


Nag Kath Book Five; The Gift of Color

by Gelansor



Series: Nag Kath [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:07:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 153,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelansor/pseuds/Gelansor
Series: Nag Kath [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155053





	1. The Gift of Color

**_This begins The Gift of Color_ **

**_the fifth book of Nag Kath_ **

****

Chapter Notes

The last three images in IMGUR are the family trees from Nag Kath's Dalish line through Eniece and Ardatha <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

**_Chapter 1_ **

**_The Gift of Color_ **

He saw a candle. It was faint. 

Moments later, a different candle. This time it lit Gandalf's face, a younger Gandalf perhaps, robed in dull blue. He wanted to ask him so many things but nothing would come. Dreams were sour, tinged with green, pulling him to older, darker thoughts. 

A new candle, but this time Orlo was beside it peering down at his face. “You are awake now? Good. Remember this. You will need it next time.”

It was not the voice of the garden but the man seemed no older. Nag Kath tried to speak. He had no sense of his body, nor could he move to change his line of sight. 

Orlo said, “You have been several years coming back to me. It took long to find you. To speak you only need think your words.”

The Elf tried. “Where are we, Orlo?”

“In a wretched ice cave in Angmar. I miss the warmth of Mistrand.”

“But you were never there.”

“Yes, I was, but not as you saw, never as you saw.”

Nag Kath thought, “I saw Gandalf.”

Orlo seemed surprised, “Gandalf the Gray? How do you know Gandalf?”

“He was my teacher. He came in my dream, only minutes ago.”

Orlo whispered, “Was it he who gave you the gift of color? It was the tiniest spark of life to rekindle you.”

“That was the Huntsman.”

“Oromë?!”

Nag Kath willed, “Wild Huntsman, his Maia. I remember him.” 

“I remember him too. Nag Kath, I do not have much time. I was also sent to do good. To avoid destruction, I became a spirit, to return only three days each year.”

Nat Kath imagined whispering; “Gelansor. I saw candles too.”

“Just so, young man. I have been with you four years. We had been waiting almost two thousand. Our work is nearly complete. You will sleep one more time. When you wake, there is evil in the corner of the cave. Destroy it. I cannot take form or I would myself. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Do I see you again?”

“I do not know if I can manage this, but when you see the candle, look for a single seed. You will know when to plant it. Goodbye, Nag Kath. Thank you for all you have done.”

The changeling tried to ask more but the old Rhûn faded into darker dreams.

A new candle awoke in his mind. But this time it came with pain; searing, unimaginable pain. It was the smack on a baby’s butt to draw first breath. Nag Kath opened his eyes. He tried to turn his head but it was too stiff. Another attempt brought the slightest movement. He was so cold. Renewed life energy was thawing him. Hours later, he was able to look around.

He was lying in a pile of frozen bodies. Some were his soldiers. Others were dead women from the tiny village, all grimacing in agony. His leg was tangled in solid limbs. It took another day to warm as the power of the color slowly brought him back. Sitting up, something tiny fell from his chest and landed in his lap. Slipping it in a pocket seemed to take an age. So did standing. 

Nag Kath felt power, foul power, permeating the cave, coursing through him, the power that brought them here who knew how long ago? Remembering Gandalf … why Gandalf? ... he lit his hand and shined silver in the darkness until it found the source under frozen rivulets. With a weak fire spell he melted the ice to collapse a pile of rocks. 

True to form, Mr. Yvsuldor was not very original. In the rubble was the Witch-stone, much like the one on the Celduin but alive with menace. The light of his hand turned sickly green when it seized the stone before he groped his way towards his first sunlight in seventeen years.

_____________------____________

Litash was six miles away, what was left of it. The sun felt like high noon. He was still cold, so cold. No right-minded person came to the cave, although the little village at the foot of the cliff had been looted. With no one between here and Litash, he put one foot in front of the other until he reached a hut with smoke streaming from a mud-brick chimney. 

He was unexpected. A woman screamed in the low light and a lad of ten, perhaps a small twelve, grabbed a much larger sword than he could swing and stood between the Elf and his mother. Nag Kath sat on the dirt floor and said in Westron, “Food.”

Something jabbed his thigh. He reached in his trouser pocket to reposition his quill-knife. There was money too. Nag Kath held a silver coin towards the motionless defender. That was fortune in Litash. The child snatched it before retreating. Again, the Elf rasped, “Food.” He tried in the Black Speech. Silver to the good, the woman recovered her wits and fetched a bowl of stew off the clay oven. If he had thought to worry, there was no meat in this hovel. He ate, fell backwards and slept. This time he dreamed real dreams.

His hosts let him lay three days. The coin earned him peace. Neither of them cut his throat. Hopefully he would give them more. A household noise woke him. Staring at the ceiling for several minutes, he slowly rose and went outside to relieve himself. Fields had wheat about thigh-high. It was summer, just after Gelansor.

Nag Kath did not remember much of his life. He was sure those memories were waiting for him. Two other memories jumped to mind. He reached in his inside pocket for the bit that fell from his chest; a grain of gureeq, a southern crop, never grown here, capable of long storage if kept dry. In the large pocket of his tunic was a hard, heavy stone. Removing it brought back all the bad. It glowed green in his hand again, even in the sun and half moon. 

The Dwarf Ring had called to him, soothed him, offered him greatness. This rock seethed with malice. He heard it silently instruct; “Claim your due, heir of power!”

Nag Kath unsteadily carried the glyph past the wheat field and set it on a flat boulder while it growled, “Fool! I see your mind, orc. You think you can atone – raise the slaves. There is only one. Fate brought you for my aid. Together we will …”

That was as far as it got before the changeling smashed a rock as large as he could lift on the fell talisman.

A burst of energy not felt in a hundred years flew to every corner of Middle-earth. Nag Kath was knocked fifty feet away with the pulse of green-light radiating across the land in all directions. No structures were damaged. His hosts watched from their doorway and a few intrepid souls in the scantily populated former capital came out to see the devilry. They felt it in Dale and the plains of Rohan, in Khand, Dol Amroth and the White City. A million people felt the pulse travel through them with shock, but no lasting harm. Remaining servants were slain. 

Someone once told him, later remembered as Miss Quessan, that powers come not to the strong but to the open. Life’s natural forces turn them away. Those few without that ability, that protection, can accept them. Some good. Some evil. Some pliable.

The same has been said of light. Darkness is the absence of light. The world once shined at all times with the glow of the two trees. That light was destroyed, its substitute now driven across the sky by Arien. But only for half the day. 

That is not always true. Sometimes darkness blocks the light – impedes or dims it – as brightness loses strength penetrating the black. After they felt the green pulse of dying energy, many of those people looked to the sky that night and saw that the Star of Eärendil, the Evenstar, called many names known only to the people under it, was brighter, larger, offering more hope and promise and succor. Nag Kath was not among them. He hauled himself to sit in the dirt and clumsily picked rock shards out of his shins.

When he got them all, the changeling limped back to the hut and slept.

_______________------_______________

Mother and son were the richest farmers in Litash by the time the twice-changeling was fit to travel. Nag Kath had almost two Florin in nippers, silvers and coppers but if he had a thousand, he could not have bought a horse. Leaving meant walking. He could get a cheap sword. Eldarion left them where they lay. Some of his groats secured a supply of hard biscuits and skins for water. 

Every day he grew a little stronger, walked a little faster, remembered little bits of someone’s past, he thought his. When he crossed rivulets coming from the mountains he recalled water flows downhill. Occasional travelers gave the disheveled soldier a wide berth. Twelve days later he reached the forest before Shedûn. There was a brook large enough for fish to swim back and forth in the eddy. He remembered them too.

Shedûn was not more than a village but the grandest thing Nag Kath had seen in this new life. Two bored Arnoran troopers on the trading post porch bench drew their own weapons when they saw the tall, shuffling man carrying an Angmari sword. They stood, demanding to know his business. He wasn’t sure. He was just trying to go home. Battle was coming. He was sick. They asked him about the green surge from the way he came and he answered as he sat on their bench, “It was the stone.”

The other four men of the half troop arrived at a trot and beheld the blond man in rags clutching enemy steel. Corporal Ulimb thought to get it from him safely and said affably, “Fine weapon you have there.”

Nag Kath considered it a moment and handed it to the soldier. He had other swords somewhere. His sense of time was returning, “What year is it?”

One of the troopers looked at his mates in silent confirmation that this poor soul was truly simple. He said gently, “It is year 118 of the Fourth Age.”

The vagabond counted on his fingers but said nothing. 

These fellows’ hitch in this forsaken place was up when their replacements arrived in a week or two. The nameless stranger pottered about the station talking with people in whatever language they spoke and gradually got his tongue to match his thoughts. More often he just sat and stared. Groats bought bread. His sword in safekeeping, no one paid the half-wit much attention until the relief troop arrived with traders. As they spoke among themselves, he wandered up and said he would give a gold coin for a horse. It was a slight dereliction of duty but an impossible sum of money for the man who accepted. In the end, Trooper Graydollan decided he could stay another three months and Nag Kath was on his way to Fornost with the soldiers.

Ten days later the quiet man remembered his name. The troopers called him a liar. Nag Kath died seventeen years ago in the Angmari war! A man should respect the dead! At campfires on the way back he said that several times. Finally, Corporal Ulimb had enough and was going to set him straight when a beam of silver light hit him in the chest. It did not flatten him, but he did stop. They rode the rest of the way faster.

Ulimb took the curious traveler to his Sarn't and both men walked him to the Provost office. Colonel Prayveshorn of the Fornost garrison had been a Lieutenant of Lancers in aught-one. A look at the threadbare survivor was all he needed to cry, “Lord Kath! How is this possible?!”

The Elf said thoughtfully, “I am not sure, and it may be some time in the telling. I remember this place too.”

Prayveshorn blurted, “Sir, you rode with the Heir!”

Nag Kath opened his mouth but nothing came out. He shook his head and mumbled, “Yes, yes I did. Where is the King?”

“In Minas Tirith, My Lord.”

“Then I must go there.”

_____________--------_____________

The Elf had to take his time. He was given food and clothes. Small things were coming back to him. Images flashed but did not form patterns. He clearly remembered the fat child with poison swirling about him, his last living thought before the blackness. Nag Kath was sure that was real.

After several days collecting his wits, he told the Commander he was going to leave by way of the High Pass and down the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. There were two stops he needed to make on the way to the White City. A woman of the town who was said to know ancient lore baked him fair way-bread. The Colonel found him a saber. Someone, he could not remember who, gave him a warm coat for the mountains.

Nag Kath stopped at Rivendell. If there were Elf Keepers still there, he would be kept. 

Elrond’s homely house was a little the worse for neglect but still a marvel when viewed across the Imladris Valley. His beast was Trailblazer, a decent mount in his day now long past, extra incentive for his owner to trade for the nipper in Shedûn. Trailblazer had no trouble with the narrow path over the defiles. Nag Kath tied him in front of the main entrance and made better time than he expected trotting up the long stairs.

Nothing had changed. The Elf walked over to the Quenya section, pulling a volume he remembered because it had pictures. After a while, he was so absorbed he didn’t hear the gnome, but then, he never had.

“Orc Six. Welcome back.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Fencïl. I hope you and the missus are well.”

“Hughmmmm.”

“I thought as much. Are the Elves all gone?”

“The last left here eighty of your years ago. Will you join them?”

“I have never been invited, Mr. Fencïl, that little matter about having been an Uruk-hai.”

“Hughmmm. Will you be here for some time?”

Nag Kath looked at the book rack, “I am here to heal after long confinement in Angmar.”

“Hughmmm. Yes, you were eaten by wargs. Are you flesh or spirit?"

"Flesh, I think."

"Then I will tell Mrs. Fencïl you will join us for dinner.”

The Elf stayed two weeks, leaving when he was more himself. He knew that could not be complete until he had an emotional grounding for memories spinning in his head. He remembered the sorcery. He remembered his wives, but not their order. He had picked grapes and sailed. Understanding must wait until Minas Tirith.

His reason for the detour was just over the mountains. Trailblazer was very slow climbing but kept his feet. He knew his limits. Oats from Fornost were almost gone when they made the Anduin.

______________-------_____________

One wall had finally collapsed with the roof dumped to the ground on that side. The other side was drunkenly standing so the Elf slipped in the crack of a doorway.

Radagast’s chair was now entirely thick roots attached to every living thing in the forest. Only brown threads too embedded in the grain hadn’t been taken to make nests. The wizard was absorbed. He no longer needed to travel among his birds and trees. He was of them.

In good light, Nag Kath looked for other clues to the gentle wizard’s long legacy. He left his sparrow pictures on the shelf. The roof crushed a bewildering array of pots and jars on the other side of the room. Ah, there was homhus, the Pukel remedy! Yes, the Druédain. He knew them from somewhere, here? Radagast’s staff was now part of the living forest but the little crystal had separated from the gnarled root head. He slipped it in the pocket with the seed.

Nag Kath had a lot to think about on the ride south. Radagast chose this and he wished him well. But the Elf would have dearly liked to ask the brown wizard why he had seen Gandalf in the five years of his awakening. Had some element of his spirit remained here as Radagast’s had done? Orlo left behind a little seed. Now there was the bulb of Radagast’s staff. Were they both Maiar? Did they think the changeling might someday be invited to the Undying Lands and bring them home? Wards around the wizard’s house would keep mortal men away for a thousand years. Nag Kath would take them or no one would.

_______________-------______________

As Trailblazer clopped past the Mithril Gate to Reyaldar’s home on the fourth, the changeling asked himself yet again if he wanted to know who would open the door. The man would be seventy or so by now. He decided he did and knocked loudly. 

A woman of about thirty-five answered and was told, “My name is Nag Kath and I would like to see Mr. Conath.”

She gave the threadbare beggar a long look before saying, “He is right here. Please come in.”

Rey was sitting on the couch in the main room reading by the mid-day light. He looked over his spectacles and froze stock still. The Elf finally mumbled from his past, “Someone told me there was a big Northman living here.”

“By the …” The big Northman rose with a stretch and walked over slowly for his bear hug. Reyaldar put his hand alongside Uncle Nag’s face with wonder in his eyes and said softly, “How is this …” Changing to his usual hearty voice he called, “Heuris, come see what darkened our door!” Back to the Elf, “This has to be your best story yet …,” his tone graver, “ … or worst. Come, sit down.”

The Elf waited until dear Heuris came from the back room. All the blood in her face drained away. Bless me! A ghost! When he seemed real she got her more delicate hug. Nag Kath told them of the attack, being frozen, the return of Orlo and dragging his way back. At times he faded into recollection. Neither great grandchild interrupted.

Their three children, five grandchildren and first great-grandchild were all fine, although Heuris thought a couple of the grandchildren were quite spoiled. Heuris was holding-up well too. Rey was officially the manager of Kathen but his son Fieldar had the reins now. Dear Penni recovered her lovely spirit after Shur died and made it to 91.

Reyaldar said, “Nag, when you were eaten by wargs, we divided your estate. I’ll make sure you get it back.”

Nag Kath considered that for a moment and smiled absently, “No; that is yours now. I have enough.” He was quiet again, finally saying, “I must see the King.”

Heuris put her foot down, “You aren’t seeing anyone, let alone royal persons, smelling like a swamp wearing clothes folk can see through.” She turned to the younger maid, “Mairn, find Dorach to fetch bath water. Then take two silvers and get ready-clothes in his size.” She thought the un-hemmed full-length trousers might be long enough. Turning to old cook; “Miss Mandis, be a dear and get fresh fish to go with the chicken tonight. Off you go. And both of you; NOT a word!” 

Nag Kath murmured, “Thank you for looking after your old Uncle Nag. I might be a while regaining my wits.”

A bath and clean clothes helped. His hair had not grown in the ice cave but it was almost Elvish length now. He walked back into the main room barefoot and flopped on the couch next to Rey asking, “Is anyone in my old house?”

“It is rented, well, the top two floors. There are a few boxes left on the first.”

Nag Kath said, “Good. I should get some things. Do you have the key?”

Rey thought a moment, “It is at the office. I need to write you a note. Nessa won’t know you, likely call the guardi if you dance in and ask for it.” Reyaldar dashed-off a quick message for his office girl. Nag Kath took Trailblazer to the stable on the third and walked back up to Kathen.

Rey was right. The young woman anchoring the desk knew the name, but the namesake was dead as Durok. She had no idea who this creature was – handsome but eerie. She read her employer’s note twice before giving the blonde stranger a scowl with his key.

On the lane in front of his home memory flooded his frozen mind. All the life, parties, Phylless, Flor – he had to include her – dragging home many times after some impossible adventure like the last, it was all there. He stared so long the tenant walked out the main entrance on the second floor and asked if he was lost.

“Nay, sir. I used to live here.”

“It must have been when you were a child.”

Nag Kath did not remember having said this before but replied haltingly, “I was never a child … but it does seem ages ago. I have come to get some things from the first floor so if you hear trolls in your basement, do not be alarmed.”

The fellow was friendly but wanted to be sure the tall man wasn’t a burglar, “It is locked behind a stout door.”

The Elf produced the key from his pocket. Now concerned for his lodgings, the tenant reminded him, “We have a lease with Kathen until next June.”

Nag Kath shook his head and smiled, “Please, do not fret. I am staying with family. I shouldn’t be long.”

The man called down, “Can I help?”

“I do not think so. On second thought, tea would go down very smoothly right now. Please, do not put yourself out.”

The man went back inside as the landlord turned the old-fashioned key in the lock. Both large windows facing southeast were closed with heavy shutters on the outside. Nag Kath forced a window open and fought the latches to a mist of dust pushing the shutters out. About that time, his tenant brought down two hot mugs and handed one to the Elf saying, “Fredithorn.”

“Nag Kath, pleased to meet you." The tenant did a double-take but said nothing, "Ah, this comes first.” He walked over to the picture folio rack and gently slid the dust cover off the hanging files. They did not smell of mold or mice. The wards held just long enough. He hauled it to the open door and looked at the first file, handing an aqueduct rendering to Fredithorn saying, “Not too much the worse for time.”

His luck was not so good with the clothes. Moth grubs found that crate. When he tried to pull one of his sweaters from the pile, it came out like a bird's nest. The worm-wool was intact. Nag Kath closed the top and looked at a smaller crate he thought would have books. They seemed undamaged. Taking two of them and a small box from Phylless’ things in another crate, he dropped them in the folio before dragging it to the switchback to wait for a man-cart.

Tenant and landlord sat on the rock fence by the path. Nag Kath took a long pull of the tea and said, “Thank you for this. I thought it would be dusty.”

Fredithorn replied, “I’ve been here three years and you are the first person to come.”

That was good. A quick look at the stove showed the grout around the base had not been disturbed. No one climbed the beams for the diamonds either. He would decide what to do about them later. “I might be back as I settle-in. Most of those boxes should be thrown away or given to the needy.” With a conspiratorial smile, “I expect my family got the good things.”

It took a quarter-bell for a man-carter to lope by and load the file rack. In that time, Fredithorn told him who he might know from twenty years ago. Nag Kath remembered quite a few folk and most of the businesses. Some were the next generation of the same families. Nag Kath thanked Fredithorn for his help and followed the carter over to Rey and Heuris’ two blocks away.

Dinner was leisurely. They rehashed his horrifying tale, often stopping in mid sentence to order his narrative. Maid and cook strained their ears for every word – enough that Heuris repeated after the meal they were to keep their teeth together until high Lords were consulted! Easygoing Rey was like his da Shurran and let his wife manage staff in this household.

By lamplight, the elderly great grandchildren sat to either side of Uncle Nag as he paged through the folio. Reyaldar had seen them many times but Heuris looked in wide-eyed wonder. Like almost everyone else familiar with the curious Elf; they mostly believed his outlandish exploits if told by reliable sources. Seeing his own renderings of events confirmed both the inspiring and frightening. He spent extra time gazing at the Wild Huntsman, terrifying to Heuris, but giver of the gift that brought him back from death. 

Since Rivendell, Nag Kath knew he needed these images. This was not sentimental. He had to reclaim the emotional context behind disjointed memories swirling in his head. His brain was repairing itself from both the freezing and the bleeding-pox. But like his torturous Elf-birth, the thoughts inside were more than flesh and blood. Pictures glued them in place. At times he would stop, lost in remembrance, and then take comfort knowing they were in order of time. He saw them in as much awe as the children had, lingering on some longer than others. When he shut the last binder, he was home in his waking mind. 

________________------________________

There was a throng at the sixth gate the next morning. He lost the ruby pass when he got new trousers in Fornost and could not remember the secret name so Nag Kath lined-up with the other supplicants. When called, he walked to the clerk, saying he was there to see King Elessar. As if it was of no moment, she wrote a note on one of their official forms and told him to have a seat not a dozen petitioners from where he and the portly gaoler sat over a century before.

Two hours later, a page brought him to a long table of higher clerks on the other side of the wall from the Provin. Under-Magister Groathan looked at the sheet and up at the looming blonde saying, “Mr. Regnieu, I cannot make heads from tails of your petition.”

“I make no petition. I have come to see the King.”

“Name?”

“Nag Kath.”

The functionary was still a moment in curiosity, though a number of patriots named their children after the slain hero of the north. Flipping the sheet face-down, he sorted through the pile finally saying, “Mr. Kath. One does not simply walk in and see the King.” 

“Would you take him a note?”

Under-Magister Groathan would not play that game. “I can give it to my superiors.”

The Elf took a pencil from his jacket and drew the symbol Fûl on one side of the form and Orlo on the other. After being handed the sheet, Groathan sniffed, “And the secretaries will know what to make of this?”

One adjustment the wizard made, at first unwittingly, was that he wouldn't mind showing magic as much he had. The unctuous clerk got a powerful and public blast of yellow light with the Elf Lord order; “You will take this to the King’s personal secretary yourself. I will watch your station until you return.”

Like a puppet on strings, the Under-Magister unwillingly jerked up from his chair and forced himself down the corridor towards the stairs. Nag Kath slid across the table taking the seat between two startled clerks and read something from the battered little bag. It wasn’t twenty minutes before two large guards in palace livery brought the confused Groathan back and told Nag Kath, “Sir, please come with us.”

King Elessar Telcontar was sitting in his garden in a wheeled-chair. A blanket over his knees helped the warm autumn sun. His hair and beard were completely white and the wrinkles of being over two hundred years old had finally caught him. Lady Arwen was by his side. For a face that never changed, he thought she showed strain. He did. 

Nag Kath bowed to both and the Queen motioned for him to take the chair across from them. Aragorn said in a thin voice, “How is this possible, soldier of Gondor?”

“I missed most of it Sire, My Lady." He gave them a halting recollection of the advance group, the sorcerous child, Orlo, as much as he could remember. Arwen was almost a statue. Aragorn was animated a few times, asking a warrior’s questions of the engagement. Prince Eldarion was on his way to the summer capital when the changeling returned on the other side of the Misty Mountains. 

As he wrapped his presentation, Nag Kath asked, “Did you feel a surge, a gust of power to raise the hair on your neck?”

Arwen whispered, “Yes, a feeling to chill the soul.”

The King added, “I was only a few miles away from Barad Dûr. Not as strong as that but yes, the same pulse. 

“That was when I smashed the Witch-stone, the real one.”

Arwen said with finality, “On that day, the bodies in the Dead Marshes vanished.”

Nag Kath grinned a tired grin, which the Queen did not mind as much as she had. “Then, sir, ma’am, I think we finally got him.”

“Indeed, Nag Kath. Indeed.”

The Elf continued, “We lost another soldier, in a manner of speaking. Radagast has become one with the forest. Years ago, he began slowly melding into the roots of his beloved woods. Now he has joined with them in body as well as spirit. It is certainly by design. I thought you should know. He was my friend and I ..." the changeling was lost for a moment; "... I will honor him.”

Arwen excused herself to speak with a retainer who appeared near the door. When she was out of Elf hearing, the King asked, “Will you do more sailing, my friend?”

“I will visit Dol Amroth to see all those kin. Then; a longer trip east to mend body and soul from Angmar. The sea will beckon in its own time.”

Aragorn reached over and gripped the Elf's wrist with surprising force saying, “Please, remember the sea, for my sake. Go for my sake. Remember the beckoning!”

The Queen returned and the King loosed his hand. Aragorn told her, “Our Nag Kath has plans for more adventure, my dear.”

Arwen offered her enigmatic smile, “Go always with our best wishes, sir knight.”

______________-------______________

Back on the third-level, Nag Kath saddled old Trailblazer and took him to the main cavalry stables on the first. The Lieutenant was not at hand so the Master Sarn't spit something yellow and walked over to the tall greenbottom. “How can I help you sir?”

He meant ‘sir’ as a slight, an inside-gibe for a city dandy rather than a superior officer. The White City was well past the age of warrior/merchants. Nag Kath knew that but said cheerfully, “I came to purchase a Lossarnach stallion, four to eight years old with line training. Are you the man to see?”

The Sergeant would have some fun with him, “Did you think to exchange this fine animal?”

“No, I bring him for you to give a trooper who might be short on the ready; horse, saddle and tack.”

That was a generous gift but nowhere near the price of the King’s best. Sarn’t Greshamn had been reprimanded before for insulting a rich-man’s son so he asked solicitously, “And where might we call if such a horse is available?”

Nag Kath gave him one of his old cards with Rey’s address crabbed in the corner. His name was on it and every soldier of Gondor would know it. The unlettered Sergeant Greshamn looked as if reading and then slipped it in his pocket. He promised to give it to his stable-officer and spit something yellow watching the tall man walk towards the prow.

The next stop would be less public. The Elf peered in the windows of the healing shops. Most of the windows were filthy so he put his head inside the first to find two Haradrim who were sure they had whatever he needed, no matter what it was. 

It took three more shops before he saw a woman inside who might qualify. She was nearing forty and not hard to look at, probably not surly enough for inductive healing. Always starting with the least upsetting need he asked, “Excuse me, I seek someone who can pull a mild infection.”

She appraised him for a few moments before replying, “Those are rare skills, sir. Are you asking for yourself?”

“Yes, but not in the way you think. Call this research.”

She snapped tartly, “You will have to ask elsewhere.”

When courtesy doesn’t work, bribe. Nag Kath laid two silvers on the counter, “These are for the man or woman who can answer my questions.”

Man? That was unnerving. The only known male sorcerer in her lifetime was buried one bone at a time in Angmar. On the other hand; two dented kings were two more than she had in the till. She walked to the door and locked it before returning to the counter saying, “I can draw an infection.”

The tall man asked, “Four months ago there was a surge. Did you feel it?”

“Dougsh yeah! Doubled me over.”

“Did it change your powers?”

“I am stronger now in cures of womenfolk.”

Nag Kath questioned her about that healing; things a man should not even know to ask. He was looking for tells to witchcraft. Getting none, he asked, “How about applied maladies?”

The woman recoiled, “Sir, however would I know of such things?!”

He raised his eyebrow.

“I pulled a hangover from a lout who refused to pay, so I gave it back.”

“After the green pulse?”

“Two weeks ago, he had it coming.”

Nag Kath prompted, “Was that stronger too?”

“Yes! I mean, it might have been if I had ever done something like that before.”

The Elf set a scrap of paper on the coins, “No need to mention this to the guild. This a short list of herbs and roots for this address on the fourth, name of Solvanth.”

________________-------________________

Nag Kath took a few minutes to pick at the yellows on the garden mural below the switchback and then wound his way up to the second-level shop of master bowyer Augustor. He was an old codger from Dale who offered bows in the Northman style. Reyaldar met him ten years before. A direct descendant of Bard the Bowman and Kath of the Celduin, Rey was worth meeting. Augustor peered over his half-spectacles. “Good morning, sir. How can I help?”

“Good day, sir. I need a Dun Breathen pull in my height. I am told you are the man.”

Augustor gave him the same look the stable Sarn't did earlier. It was the bowyer’s policy not to make weapons in the two top tensions for anyone who wandered in the door wearing moldy boots, except those who overpaid in cash. Still, he was the picture of attention. “Here, sir, let us have a look.”

The man strung the test bow at the notches second closest to the grip and handed it to the young archer. Nag Kath drew it several times in the right posture without straining. He handed it back saying, “It has been a while but yes, that is the pull I’ve always used. My first was by Fridth in Dale and the second by Tunverid after he took the shop.”

Augustor was intrigued. Tunverid’s grandson taught young Augustor the bowyer’s craft. When the next generation took mastership, it was time to try southern pastures. “I am sorry sir. I did not catch your name.”

“Nag Kath. My kin Reyaldar Conath sent me.”

This was the Elf that shot Frûnzar at a gallop. “Forgive my suspicions Lord Kath. You are considerably less dead than described.” 

That earned him a wan grin. “It is a curious story, but I have returned, and in no hurry for the weapon. What is your charge, Mr. Augustar?”

Famous or not; “A silver-twenty.”

“Good, and a gross of arrows, half target, half game heads. Goose quills on the gamers.”

Augustar calculated, “Add another silver-twenty. I’ll include extra strings.”

“And a wrist-guard.” 

There was one more stop. The Royal Bank of Gondor was on the sixth astraddle the wall, open to the public but very secure in the vault. He said who he was and signed the card so the assistant manager could compare it to the files. The man returned a bit shaken. “Sir, our records show that your heirs were paid your estate fifteen years ago after you were eaten by wargs.”

Like the banker in Dale, Mr. Juestigsh was bracing for the explosion of this man’s money being gone. What he got was, “As it should be. There was also a trust entailed to charity if I did not claim it some years hence. Can you tell me the balance there?”

Assistant Manager Juestigsh, who did not look all that Khandian, left the Elf at his desk and went back to the vaults. A quarter-bell later he emerged with a note pad and said, “According to our records, that account has one hundred eighty Florin and twenty six. It receives regular rents from Osgiliath, and it received payments for jewelry until the stones in the vault were all sold.”

“Ah, good. Let that stand for now.”

“Sir, there is also a smaller account that once paid a pension for a woman also named Kath. It still has a Florin and twelve.”

If there was money left, she died young. He didn't want to know when those ended. “Hmmm ... forgot that one. I’ll take that in nippers now.” He would need some for the horse and saddlery. The Colonel in Fornost said the advance scouts’ horses scattered when the orcs came. Nemren was found and given to a trooper who lost his. Ten Florin and several diamonds were sewn into the saddle. A fine work, the saddle would find its way down in owners’ affluence until scrapped for usable parts, making the last owner the richest man in his county.

Reyaldar was lying on the couch and called, “Get what you needed?”

“Mostly. I had to buy another bow.”

Rey slapped his forehead as he always did when he forgot something. Shuffling to a closet next to the kitchen, he rummaged noisily through neglected things, returning with his great grand-da’s sword. “The soldiers brought this back with them.”

Nag Kath drew the weapon and marveled at its balance. Even with the stone troll scratches, it was a masterwork of form and grace. 

On the third day back, Nag Kath went to Suldath and Leotulden for fitted clothes. None of the garments in the basement were salvageable. Suldath IV remembered him and saw that his measurements had not changed in forty years, very considerate of clients to keep their figures! The Elf also ordered boots and shoes at a newer establishment next door. 

While he was being the same size, Mairn answered a bold knock to see a King’s trooper with two horses behind him. “Mr. Rey? Someone to see you.”

The Northman ambled over to hear the horseman say, “The bay is courtesy of a friend, Lord Kath.” Before Rey could correct him, the young trooper saluted and climbed on his own mount. It had been nine years since a Conath had owned a horse, but as Thain-kin of Buhr Austar, fine mounts were in his blood. Reyaldar was still scratching behind the horse’s ear when Heuris returned from the lacemakers with grand-daughter Kathlie who was overawed by the beast. 

Nag Kath walked inside ten minutes later nodding his approval, “Nice horse, Rey. Your back must be feeling better.”

With his wife and bairn in earshot, Reyaldar bit back his initial comment saying, “We thought he could pull ale casks up the Celduin.”

Someone in high places must have read his note. After a century of owning horses, Nag Kath had only paid for four of them, including Trailblazer. He looked at Rey and asked, “Does he have a name?”

Scampering from the hallway, four-year old Kathlie shouted, “Daisy!” Nag Kath decided on Orlon, except when Kathlie was in the room. Then he introduced himself to the little girl whose ear grew a groat.

The Conaths had several small dinners with their children’s families so folk could meet the celebrated, and deceased, Uncle Nag. Those separately included the boy and girl Heuris thought were indolent. They seemed bored.

________________-------_______________

The Elf bowed to Prince Barahir and Princess Talienne. They had not aged as quickly as the rest. He was fifty six, she forty seven. Barahir inherited both the Principality and Stewardship a year ago after the good Prince Elboron made it to 91, joining his beloved Angalica with their ancestors.

Formalities completed, dear Talienne ran to his embrace while Barahir settled for a handshake. Talienne kissed him on the cheek and drew away saying, “We heard from the seventh. It is still impossible to believe. You must tell us all!”

He did. For two hours he went through everything he could remember, which was about all of it now. The couple had three children and a grandchild was on the way. Things had gone just as they hoped. Ithilien was strong. The old Elvish colony was run by men, and run well. The last of his little Coloma seeds had sprouted to fertilize themselves and make more. Those delicacies were very popular. 

Talienne quietly spoke of her beloved granna Eniecia. Nag Kath was heartsick to have missed her. The quiet Elf would miss Legorn too. He made it to one hundred-eighteen. The trip to Angmar was supposed to be two years, not twenty. Cal was still well. The Elf said he would go there and then return to the retreat to restore himself. They hoped not for long. 

He stayed a week, thumbing through the library, meeting children who did not remember him, sitting on the porch holding tea like he had with Faramir when the aqueduct was only a dream. At times, Nag Kath would drift off in remembrance like he had at the Conaths. Everyone knew not to speak. Memories continued seeping in, good memories. The bad ones came with temperance. They had been overcome. 

______________-------______________

Caladrion was much like his father. His hair was white but he had most of it. Now one hundred and two, he had moved from the large family home to smaller quarters in the same building as daughter Callistra, now widowed. Neither of them had lost their spark and still saw Catanards. The box seats gained with the Elf ship plans had been a family tradition ever since. There was one more show in the season. It was a comedy.

Dinners were arranged with family. All three of Cal and Eniecia’s grandchildren living here were well with broods nearing marriage age of their own. Derissa wed later than her brother and cousins, now mother of a boy of eleven and daughter of eight who were the babies of the family. The lad introduced himself with a bow and handshake, well on his way to the Prince’s service. Raniece lived in Nag and Phylless' old house. There was regular trade with Thân zîrân, Umbar too. Cal suggested a statue for the late Lord Kath some years back but never got enough votes. That got the family their first belly-laugh from thoughtful Uncle Nag.

For the opera, Raniece, her husband Borond, Menalgir and his wife Halita along with Cal and Nag Kath enjoyed a performance the Elf had not seen. As with all last-of-the-season Catanards, it was short and sweet. They had wine afterwards. 

Nag Kath stayed with Cal. Neither was sleepy. They sat on the small porch with tea listening to the crickets. Cal said to the night, “Necia missed you. She never really recovered when we heard you were lost, but she had been failing. It was time. Do not hold yourself to blame. I had her for the very best years of my life.” A tear dripped down his cheek. 

Nag Kath had his cry. There was joy in it too, joy for her and the good life she led, her brother and everyone who came before them. There was joy that he could still feel it. His greatest risk was coming. Cal was a grandchild too. Then there were all the children from those fragile beginnings. He loved them in their way. He was not turning from the men and women even if they were forgetting him by the generation. A dark lord or selfish creature would, until they had nothing in common with those they subjugated. He still felt for the woman with more laundry than time in a day, her husband taking pride in mending a gate. It was all those thousands of tiny things that made a life. 

Nag Kath told Cal he had to leave for the east before long. The freezing still needed healing and rest. Proximity to that stone gave him dark dreams. He might be forgotten in Khand too, but that was the way of things. With luck, which he hoped he still had, he would be back for more Catanards before too many years. Caladrion would have to love all of his children for him until then.


	2. Healing the Healer

**_Chapter 2_ **

**_Healing the Healer_ **

****

Waking rest sometimes brought hints of violence, hints of green. Not always, not even most of the time. Something was waiting. He hoped there might be surcease. That might be easier where few knew him or of him. In the west he was dead, whispered about, not believed, a reminder of a past better forgotten. 

The Dead Marshes were still a putrid bog of flies and scum, but no one stared out lifelessly. He had to look. Even with his lifespan, he might never see anyone desperate enough to live here. Dagorlad was a waste too, but there was no sense that one was trespassing on bones. 

The Elf made directly for Yhammâs Fruhir. There was a clear trail now. Whoever was Bror didn’t care. The southern district of Rhûn had always governed itself better than the northern Balchoth lands and paid their taxes on time. The immortal crested the ridge he loved so well and looked down on the complex. It was little changed. He rode to the office and hitched Orlon to the rail, always having to keep himself from thinking of the noble charger as Daisy.

A woman at the desk welcomed him to the facility. He asked if any of the Ghurs were in residence. She said they were but at a Saying just now. Would he like tea? It was warm and satisfying. Nag Kath sat on the bench while the clerk stayed busy, occasionally sneaking glimpses at the tall man with his elbows on his knees thinking about who-knew-what. People came here to replenish. 

Half a bell later, a man wearing the robes of office returned and spoke to the woman. She nodded towards the guest and he walked over to ask how he could help. The Elf stood, an intimidating thing, and said he had been here before. His name was Nag Kath and would like a word with the Ghurate at their convenience. The man blinked and said their convenience was now. He showed the guest into the same conference room and told the woman to attend that at once.

As the other elders straggled in, the first man stayed in the lobby waiting. Ghur Lhioneg was the second to turn the corner and exclaimed, “My heavens! How is this possible? No, no don’t tell me. I will wait until the others come.”

Four of the five made it within half a bell and heard the whole story. Nag Kath explained, “I have come to take healing in Hanvas and Nennûrad but I wanted to tell you of the Witch-King. I know you felt the surge a year ago. That was the end of his power. The Dead Marshes are truly dead. The pits are disabled. The Yvsuldor are no more. That is not to say men with hearts just as black will not use earthly powers with the same aims.”

There was finality in that. Those threats had not been ominous in the last hundred years but now they were finally put to legend. He listened to the Poets and Lorists for two weeks. Things flooded back. When he left, he wished them well from the bottom of his heart, thanks for making him feel a little less lonely. He did not mention Orlo's seed. The Elf thought him better remembered as a spirit than a kernel of gureeq. That story had more to come.

Further south in Khand, Hanvas Tur kept to about two hundred and fifty people with the same learning and rest of Rhûn plus healing. Ventuub died a few years ago but a new woman of the Nennûrad retreat came two years before that as her understudy. He had her care for his back, stiff after being frozen so long, quietly testing his own color for black and green as she wrung the body's own poisons away. Several Ghurs remembered him fondly. He stayed a week. 

Listracht was nearing seventy and still lived in the old school building. The good habits Nag Kath taught him about not neglecting house-cleaning held. The man shuffled to the door after the persistent stranger hollered something about flowers. His hearing was not what it was.

It was like he had never left. They limped to dinner. The old Righter got the less lordly details on the battle and stone. Listracht had a long pull of the improving local ale and said, “I always thought you would darken my door! You haven’t met the warg that could take you. Now the dragon; that is a different story!”

“Did anyone ever see him again?”

“Nope. Maybe when you get to Nennûrad. If he flew over here, it was at night.”

Chûr and Shaindre both made it to eighty nine. The family kept producing heartbreaking women who married well, one in the Khan’s family. One moved away but the rest stayed in their home town. Scholar Nennambuul went to Hanvas twice but could never get his niece to go. She was around and the little boy wasn’t so little. Listracht had his large circle of friends who he didn’t have to spy on anymore. He never told them he did so nothing had changed. He did sell a diamond. The Righter was always frugal.

Listracht had never been to the southernmost retreat. It was a three-week trip on a game leg. They had things in hand. Occasional folk came through here with tidings. There was not much of a right-living component except for ancient lore and poems. Folk there were more concerned with healing. That was Nag Kath’s vision. It seemed he got his way.

The Elf was not sure if he would ever be here again. Listracht would have to protect the virgins of Lhûg by himself. This was a hard parting. They had sailed uncharted seas and returned a forgotten nation to the world. No one would ever remember, mostly because those stories had only been told in courtly language, absent saddles sores or nubiles in gauze serving sweetened grain. Barahir might get to it someday.

________________-------_______________

Nag Kath took the Pashir route. The rocks where they were ambushed stood sentinel to the slaughter. He realized his sense of humor was returning as he recalled the bandit with red pants tip-toeing up that hill. The rest of the trip was uneventful. The Elf took two days of leisure in the Khanate capital but did not go out of his way to see anyone. Four days later, he crossed the bridge into Nennûrad-Tudj. He had built the place for people like he had become, never thinking he would need it himself. 

The wood lodge had been stained and new buildings added where he drew them. It was like home. The fruit and nut trees were being harvested as he watched from the saddle. What could only be the Nûradi healers' area was two hundred paces south. Elf eyes could see the maidens had not gotten any smaller.

Nag Kath tied Orlon/Daisy to the entrance rail and walked up the steps built for a great Khan of Khand. A striking young woman walked over with a bow to say, “Welcome back, best of sirs. Your room has been prepared.”

Did they know? Probably not. “I am sorry, I come unannounced.”

She put her hand over her mouth the way Talereth used to and scurried back over to a desk asking, “Mr. Piers?” Could there be two tall blonde men in this world?

“No, perhaps he is on his way.”

“I apologize. How may we help?”

The Elf said, “Is there a Mr. Pedrigs here?”

“No sir. He moved back to Pashir some years ago so his wife could be with her mother.”

“I see. Who is in charge now?”

The woman might not have volunteered that information if he hadn’t known the former manager and she hadn’t mistaken his identity. She stated, “Mrs. Runcith is head of the council.”

The northerling ranger spoke their tongue with impeccable manners, “Could you take her a note, please?” The woman would go find her, though she could be anywhere on the grounds. He said he would wait on the front porch.

Nag Kath loved this view. The fields were larger and better tended. There was a road from the water’s edge along the south creek that turned to what looked like a storage building. It was half a bell before the receptionist returned with the head of the complex; Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj’s daughter. The woman bowed deeply and said, “I do not know how this is possible, but you are most welcome, best of sirs. You may not remember me. I am Helvadis Runcith. My mother …”

“Oh, but I do remember you. It is always a dangerous business asking after people long left, but how is your mother?”

“Feisty as ever. She stays in town. This is Miss Nhat-Khiel who will see to your accommodations. Will you be staying a while, Mr. Kath?”

“Yes, I think some time. I was much injured in war and am come to rebuild.”

Mrs. Runcith smiled, “Yes, we heard, though you look fitter than described. Perhaps we can have dinner tonight?”

“Charmed.”

With a bow she was gone and the younger woman said, “Mrs. Runcith said you stayed here long ago. You will not find it much changed. She recommended quarters for you. Please come this way.”

Miss Nhat-Khiel took him to a newer cottage of several rooms that was further south, a bit away from the others ... larger too. This might be where the lower-lordly came to replenish. Leading Orlon to the building, he hoisted the big bag, art tube and satchel off along with the saddle. The woman said he could leave that for the grooms but he assured her it was fine in the room. The last time he came, diamonds stuffed in a different saddle paid for the place. She bowed and left saying the horse would be taken to the stable shortly.

His lodgings were built behind a rocky outcropping not unlike his house in Dol Amroth with Phylless. It wasn’t much of a bump but it gave more of a view down to the lake. Around the back he could see into the forest. They didn’t need to clear much timber twenty years ago and it had grown back, no Hourns in this lot! In lulls building the retreat he used to walk among the trees as Elves of old had done. Guests kept to the lodge or lower so he was almost always alone. Nag Kath would visit them again.

Dinner was pleasant. Nennûrad did not have much to do with the Stámöe, mostly because the Stámöe did not have much to do. He told her that the Witch-stone was destroyed. They all felt it. Orlo had succeeded after long, painful fighting. Like the northern Ghurates in their unique ways, this haven was for what came next. He liked that. She agreed he was not to be celebrated. Who he was would slip out, but he was just another regular. Mrs. Runcith said the place was solvent and current with the authorities. That method of governance was older than Sauron in Khand. 

Nag Kath wasn’t going to ask but she said, “If you remembered me, you probably remember Mr. Bengarath?”

“Vaguely.”

“We thought to form an attachment but he was there and I was here. He married and so did I. Alas, my husband took a wasting and even our ladies here could not save him. Mr. Courdhan is no longer with us as well, though he was eighty three when his spirit joined the others, in a good place I am sure.”

Nag Kath would be forthcoming too, “I was injured in battle when I left here, a foe I knew I was returning to face. I was left frozen in a cave with the true Witch-stone for seventeen years until Stámo restored me to life. The stone is destroyed, but I am not what I was. My return is to regain that which I had and learn that which I forgot.”

“You really were dead?”

“I think so. If I am reborn I have time to recover. This is my place to do that. Tomorrow I will visit the women of Nûrad for what I am sure will be a painful encounter.”

“Yes, they are very good, but do not spare nerves to reach their purpose.”

The very next morning, he was down at the semi-circle of healing. The new Thourah seemed sharper than the last. He told her of his history, leaving nothing out, and was assigned to Hierhul. She was shorter and broader than usual and spoke with the rough Khandian heard further into the plains of Nûrad. 

One might think that stout families produced these ladies by blood, but they seemed to just come in an ordinary brood. With a deformity or malady their prospects would have been poor. But these strong females were prized if eligible for the further training in this school or the smaller one in Viersh. Nag Kath repeated what he had told her superior and she had him lay face down on the table unclothed. The woman gently probed the area around the troll-break for quite a while before saying, “This place here. How did it rejoin?”

“Sorcery. It was severed. Someone like you held it in place and I melded it with my own powers.”

That horrified Nenwula. This woman smiled without a top front tooth and said with glee, “I wish I could do that! No one has been born in ever so long who could bring that healing. I will loosen this today and then we will rebuild strength. That is good?”

“Yes, Hierhul, that is good.”

_____________-------_____________

His back grew stronger. He caught fish. He helped with the harvests and walked the woods. Dreams of the cave lessened. Some days he listened to the poets and Sayers. Lorists spoke and referred to a good library of texts, some of them donated as spares from the Khagan himself! One of his grandsons had been here eight years ago and returned home with a good report.

After six weeks, he sought Torlurn in the city. Miss Nhat-Khiel knew the man was still in the dye business with his family and as good a sort as one could want to meet. The door was answered by a shy lass expecting someone her own size. Her eyes grew large as nippers and she looked around for someone to deal with the towering stranger. Finally she ran off and was replaced by a woman nearing sixty who smiled in remembrance. He was shown inside and asked to wait for the man of the house.

Torlurn came around from the kitchen and stopped still. Then he beamed and cried, “I hardly believe my eyes, best of sirs! We heard you came to a bad end!”

“Bad; yes. End; no. I am back for a while and wanted to pay my respects.”

“Oh it is good to see you, Mr. Solv … Kath.”

“Just Nag Kath now.”

“By any name you are welcome. Can you join us for the high meal?”

For working-class Khandians that was the equivalent of Hobbit tea, around the four-bell. Nag Kath said he would be honored.

Hemid Torlurn no longer had the constantly stained hands of his trade. Children and nephews did the mixing and sorting these days. Hemid kept the books and sought buyers for their special blues and pinks. He insisted on showing Nag Kath, and everyone else, the matching arrow scars on his neck.

The man was a right-liver in the northern sense of the term and had a lot to do with making Nennûrad Tujd what it had become. Couples did not go there to cheat. Language was cordial. Young people were encouraged to gain wisdom through learning and patience. He was all that. His personal reward was even greater. The fight was over. Untold years, family and blood were spent in making theirs a better world. His children's children might never appreciate that, but they had a better chance than their great grandparents.

Dinner was a noisy, merry affair with several children, grandchildren and a niece whose parents were gathering plants to the east. The ride to Lhûg was relived and confirmed to skeptical family. Afterwards it was just the Elf, Hemid and his wife Halah. Hemid said softly, “I worried long about the palace and what lay beneath. There was nothing we could do, but, there is always something one can do. It has never been rebuilt. Will you tell them there will be no more?”

The Elf pondered, “I had not considered that, but it seems only right. Tell me the name of the administrator and I will go in the morning.”

“First you will stay here tonight as our guest!”

He gladly accepted their hospitality. This was healing too. Nag Kath had to remind himself that the trudge to Lhûg and back with a bandit attack was the journey of Hemid’s life. He could let the man savor it. The Elf said, “We must keep a few more secrets. I will tell the administrator that the object calling fell beasts is destroyed, but not that we knew the dragon was down there.”

“Oh no, I have kept that to myself. Your alms to those harmed helped them. I worried that folk might have left with warning, but who would have believed us?”

With deep bows and offers to visit either way, Nag Kath strolled off to visit Mrs. Zhurrag-Ledj. She knew he was here and glad to see him. When tea was served, he told her of the Witch-stone. She clapped her hands together and smiled, “You put us out of business well before that, Mr. Kath. With the dark ones gone we had to look inward. You intended that, and so did the wise ones from the north. It worked. I cannot travel to the retreat now, but my dear Helva visits me often.”

“Hemid asked me to tell Administrator Phemgeri that the stone is destroyed if they want to put something in the ruin.”

“That is wise. Brave children dare each other to look down that hole until their parents learn and punish them. It was trolls in Rhûn?”

“Just one, two in Pelargir.”

“One is enough. Our dragon was safer. I would not have thought that.”

After tea he thought he would be a brave child himself. The Elf inched to the hole in the stout floor and looked down. About ten feet across, it wasn’t as smelly as a troll-hole. Nag Kath walked to the market and brought several pitch-torches back to the pit. Lighting one torch with his fire-glass, he let it fully glow and dropped it in the hole. It landed about thirty feet down and sizzled in a puddle. The next hit dryer ground and showed where water drained but there was no system of caves where others could be lurking. He didn’t want to tell the local man it was safe if it wasn’t. With no one around, for good reasons, he lowered himself into the pit for a better look around. No gold – but a few scales scraped from the beast in his emergence might be worth quite a bit.

Satisfied, he went to the same office as before and asked for a private word with Mr. Phemgeri. It wasn’t long until he was shown to the office, cutting in front of irritated supplicants who had been waiting since eight. The fellow could have been the son of the last man. He folded his hands on the northern-style desk and said, “My assistant said you have information about the palace, yes?”

“Along those lines, sir. Did you feel a terrible surge of power here a long year ago?”

“Certainly, we all did. People were frightened.”

“That was the destruction of the talisman that called the dragon from his slumber. There had been others hidden by Sauron as well but they are now gone.”

Why do you tell me this, Mr. Kath?”

“I am visiting the retreat for healing and thought if the Lord Khan has use for palace, he can now proceed with confidence.”

“You have no interest in that restoration?”

“No, best of sirs. I am telling you because I can.”

____________------____________

Nag Kath grew stronger. His thoughts were more ordered. In the forest he tested his magic – more potent than before the ice cave. His sense of color was returning. He settled into life in Nennûrad Tujd and worked simple tasks. In what others took as a wild gesture, he began training with slow swords again. Folk joined him, often former warriors who could not find peace after guarding the Southron border. The retreat shop made stout beater swords from the dense wood found towards Alagoth. Women watched and could join, but never did. Khandian sword movements are taught differently than for straight-bladed western weapons but this was not a course in battle. As many as eight attended, enough to need a different time so they weren’t clacking their beaters during meditative Sayings.

Autumn came and went. Nag Kath was tempted with women here, especially the alluring Miss Nhat-Khiel, who was taller but very much the model of flawless Khandian ladies like Chûran. That she was here showed the spirit of Rightness was taking hold. A generation before, a woman with her beauty would have been married-off to a man of substance – perhaps to great fulfillment, perhaps lasting sorrow. In this day and age she could be head receptionist.

He waited. He knew he would not be here long. That seemed Elvish.

The winter of Fourth Age 120 was cold and wet. Huge avalanches from the peaks above would rumble in terrible thunder but never got this far. One happened in daylight as white upon white rolled down in a cloud and was silent minutes later. 

Nag Kath started swimming again. The lake was cold in any season and folk thought him mad. It was a pure exercise. As he grew healthy, he realized that times of stress or concern may well have been the Witch-stone. The chest pains before the dragon and in Angmar showed he was not immune to its pull. In his original form, he could not have been that different than the beasts waiting for the servant’s call. It was how they lived. It was why they died. He had felt none since. There was no lingering sorcery from the stone. It was simply his mind driving fell dreams out with renewal.

Nor had he felt the pull to Valinor. The Woodland Elves who chose to stay described it was as if pieces of them too small to imagine were taken from the body. It was not painful. Frodo wrote that Galadriel called it diminishment. Perhaps his parts were reassembled incorrectly in the dungeon.


	3. Treasures of the East

**_Chapter 3_ **

**_Treasures of the East_ **

That spring, a train of merchants came up from deep in Nûrad carrying loot from the great Chey city, perhaps of Nennambuul’s lore. They tried the Middle Pass of the Ered Harmal but heavy snow closed it and they had to take the long way around. Three men, two women and two youngsters were offered rest after having to eat one of their donkeys above the pass. 

As they regained their health, Nag Kath talked to them about faraway places. He thought he would go into Nûrad until the clue stopped short here at the blue jewel. The traders had mixed blood from Khand and the original Cheyans who lived along the eastern Harmals, the only place with water now. The greatest of the mountains in this range were nearly a hundred miles across, creating the massive Harnen River that was the only water for southern Harad. On the leeward side, another flowed to the ancient cities through a hundred leagues of sand. 

When the winter was miserable in the southern mountains, it was cool enough to raid the old city for trinkets. The good things were long gone but with so little rain, iron did not rust quickly. They had copper bracelets and beads or combs that ladies wore in their long hair. In one bag was a dirk with etchings of some fierce god known only to those who lived there. They sold to collectors in the cities of Khand

The women would only speak to other women. They always wore scarves over their hair. The older one had permanently tattooed a fine black line into her eyelashes. Sometimes Khandian pleasure ladies did that, or used a fine ink. Ink wore-off, a lesson he learned as the black-braided Dúnedain scholar.

After a week, the folk were feeling better and nervous about getting a bill they couldn’t pay. They paid it in full when the annoying tall one kept asking questions. The oldest journeyer, an uncle of some sort, said when they had to eat the donkey, they abandoned writings. Pressed, he explained they were loose sheets of different colors and sizes, about two inches thick, some with pictures. None of them could read so they didn’t know what they meant. Those were left just above the middle pass.

The Elf asked forcefully, “How much for everything you carry?”

That required a combination of counting, inflating and wondering what the market would bear. The man came up with a number, doubled it expecting hard-bargaining and said, “Twenty silver coins.”

The greenbottom foreigner countered, “I will give you that and a Florin more if you will go get those papers when you are well.”

His sister, the woman long past effective eye adornment, waddled over and spoke sharply to the worn trader in their tongue. The fellow explained the offer, seemed unsure and she gave him everything short of a slap on the ear explaining that they would certainly go get that and everything else the donkey had. Since she couldn’t tell the tall blonde busybody, uncle said laconically, “That will be acceptable.”

The old man, the children and their mother would stay. The rest would go in another week after provisioning and getting a fresh donkey. Two of the higher staff people softly complained that the northerner was conducting business here, a violation of policy. Mrs. Runcith implied they had an understanding, which was easier than explaining the northerling owned the retreat and everything on it.

A made-man, now free of his beloved sister, Mr. Fanug-kûk, started enjoying life. The young woman and children kept to themselves for a week and then the little ones played with other children under eagle-eyed supervision. Fanug-kûk liked a taste of ale after his meal. Sipping slowly, he and the curious tall man talked at length about the lands these people were saving their coppers to leave for good. 

In his rooms, Nag Kath made a large map of all the places he had been. It was a collection of smaller maps he remembered but had never combined. Allowing vast slop for estimates, the seas claimed to be east of Thân zîrân would be about four hundred leagues south of here, perhaps where the large rivers found the salt water. The traders had to backtrack about a hundred of those to get what they left. It seemed a spurious notion to travel to that sea just to find water one couldn’t drink, but the Elf also realized that with immortality, he might eventually think a fifty year trip was better than baking Lembas every day.

Fanug-kûk had heard stories of lands like here with trees and growing things long past where the two great rivers of Nûrad met. He had never been even near the confluence. Still, traders talk with traders. They lie about prices and quality but stay close to truth about distance and water. Good as his word, the ranger gave him two little gold coins as the down payment for the trip and twenty silver coins for the goods piled in his storage room. Fanug-kûk could see uses for soft paper but not stiff, sandy paper.

A hundred leagues there and a hundred leagues back on foot takes a while. Fanug-kûk hoped his sister, her husband and her husband’s brother returned safely and was glad to share his payment generously. But he had taken his last long trip of shaking barbed-tailed spiders out of his boots. As far as he was concerned, he could spend the rest of his days in a village near Alagoth they visited ten years ago. If that meant talking with the stranger, he would manage.

Round-trip to the dead donkey was more like one hundred sixty leagues and the troop straggled back two and a half months after leaving. They presented the rich, foolish lordling with a box of papers and a few more odds and ends. As promised, he paid them two gold coins on the spot. They would rest three days and be on their way to Alagoth, an easy eighty miles with their new donkey.

The writing looked like a mating of Khandian and Dwarvish. He could parse-out some words. The maps were why he wanted this. There were more than he thought, mostly army maps, possibly for the out-of-town Yvsuldors, showing rivers, cities and concentrations of subjects at the time. Perhaps someone in Minas Tirith or the Numenoreans could make sense of the rest. He also dumped bags of junk the traders had scavenged in the fallen city. Most was worthless to him but some pieces repeated script or symbols found in the writings or engraved daggers. He separated items into two piles and told the traders they could have the much larger one if they wanted it. They did.

By the time all this happened it was summer of F.O. 120. Having a project stimulated his mind, which was what he really needed. Walking the west and having people fear or pity him, or listen to stories they did not believe, was dull. Nag Kath started drawing and painting again. He did an ink sketch of the silver dragon in Nennûrad. Might he still be out there? He went to town more often. Orlon needed the work. He threw himself into building projects and healing with both the herbalist and the ladies of Nûrad. They kept the name though they were now in Khand. He showed them some of his breathing techniques for mindful rest. Humans have a terrible time purging un-wished thoughts, but sometimes they could drift away for a few minutes.

Most importantly, his sense of the ice cave stopped preying on his mind. Dreams tinged with green gave way to pale silver. When winter approached and he wanted to sing Syndolan songs, he realized he was restored. He would leave next summer. 

Unlike the west, there were no courts or places of adjudication other than the absolute authority of whoever ran your part of the world. They did have the equivalent of notaries, generally scribes, who drafted petitions, wills and agreements. Since so few people could read here, those documents had to be kept by reliable folk who could produce them at need.

Mr. Xub was one such notary and this morning he got an unusual request. The tall, blonde man was Nag Kath Solvanth, agent for Kathen Properties west of the Great River. In that capacity, he wanted to make over the land and chattel of Nennûrad Tudj to Stámöe Partners for the sum of five groats. The careful scribe said that presented no difficulty as long as the property was current on its taxes, which he would check as part of his service. It was. The original deed and three copies of the transfer were signed by the parties involved; one for each and one for the administrative office, proof that diamonds weren’t worth what they were.

Mrs. Runcith was preparing to retire too. Management of the retreat was going to be more in the Ghurate style with a council of elders. This was planned before Nag Kath arrived. Mrs. Runcith would move home to care for her mother. The new fellow was Mr. Yourdish who reminded the Elf of Tumlen.

Nag Kath enjoyed the spring, worked the summer and said his goodbyes in August. They were dear people here. After so many years of courage in the face of daunting odds, they had earned peace. He urged Orlon over the bridge and made for Peshir, stopping only to have an ale or two with Pedrigs.

There were rumblings of conflict in Nûrn so he took the horse-track along the northern Ered Duath range. That meant six days to the mouth of Mordor where the bandits attacked and then skirting around the Eastern Desolation to the little towns popping up in the headwaters of the Súrûbeki. It ran clear at these elevations and not a hard ford. There was indeed a road but not good for wagons. It hugged the foothills from those peaks with dozens of streams that had not existed in the dry of Sauron. Those joined others heading for the rising Rhûn.

Crossing that stream he headed west for home. Right living had changed now that Mordor and Angmar and all the other places were free of their vestigial blights. Men would equally cruel, be they ruler or father, but they could summon no more than their own wrath.

The adherents of Orlo were glad to know they succeeded. Somehow, one soul at a time, Orlo kept many people of those lands from the service of Sauron. Rulers cheated on their conscriptions. Families were pressed and died. Some suffered for their faith, but enough got away from the Yvsuldor that their heirs did not stand at the gates or back the line when the Rohirrim were stretched near to breaking. 

It was not even a measurable contribution. It took all everyone else had; Elves, Hobbits, men of Dale, Dwarves in their thousands and, of course, the men of west. But every soldier of Khand and Chey who was not there meant one more free-person standing in the smoke when the dead army finished their scouring. Nag Kath would never think that even the smallest effort was wasted.


	4. The End of the Fellowship

**_Chapter 4_ **

**_The End of the Fellowship_ **

At the headwaters of the Lest River was a growing town, verging on city, called Lhurvasagh. It was pretty, looking out over the grasslands of Gathod. He took a room at a fairly new inn and had dinner. A conversation caught his ear between two tables of western traders from the Anduin route. The inveterate eavesdropper heard, “I tell you, the son is fine. He has a lot to live up to but he is fine – and no child either.”

His opposite number, who had swilled a few of the millet ales already, made the case; “I do not dispute that. I am just saying that the mother was part of the package and she is gone too.”

The first man said, “You make a good point. I did not think Elves died.”

Nag Kath interrupted, “Your pardon sir, do you speak of the King and Queen?”

The second man looked askance, “Well, they used to be. There’s a new King and Queen. We think he will do a fine job, yes sir!”

His companion remarked, “You are long away if you did not know that. He is dead a year and a half and she a year after. Tell is; she went to Elvish places and died in sorrow. Tis a shame.”

The immortal, maybe the last, leaned back in his chair and said, “You are correct, best of sirs. I have been long in the east. We speak now of King Eldarion and Queen Aranthal?”

“And their young ‘uns as prince and princesses.”

Nag Kath recovered his grace and called, “Please, young lady, bring a pitcher so we may toast a long and bountiful life for our new liege.”

____________-------___________

Lorien was completely deserted. Had they gone to the Woodland Realm? Nag Kath did not hear him but was prepared for the surprise.

“Orc Six. It has been some time.”

“Hello, Master Logass. May I enquire after the excellent Mrs. Logass?”

“Same as ever. Have you come to see the mirror?”

“I tried. It seems the magic is gone with our Lady Arwen, lo, it spoke to me before of things that have yet to pass.”

Nag Kath turned to face the gnome, unchanged through the ages. Fighting tears he asked, “Did it have to be thus? Could she not have been the last of her people to cross the waves?”

Logass sat in the grass and stretched his unique legs. “Orc Six, we have enjoyed your visits, here and other forgotten places. You have an innocence both humorous and refreshing betwixt the company of those who know so much, have endured so very much. 

“No, she could not have left. Your kind can be killed in war or by injury, certainly many have been since we keepers were created to tend the places they trod, but some can take no joy in watching one more leaf fall to earth. The Lady Arwen embraced mortality. She bound herself to her man so completely that when he died, nothing that remained offered her peace.”

Nag Kath reached for his toes to loosen his back. When he pulled his knees into his arms he said, “He never told me, but I think the King wanted me to take her, me or another Elf, Prince of the Woodland folk. Perhaps the other knew it was impossible but in my ignorance, I might have managed by mishap. I was not there when she might have chosen. I now regret that.”

Logass considered that and said, “Rest easy. Her choice was made, if not before, certainly when she bore her son. These things cannot be altered once put in motion. The Elessar may not have truly understood that.”

The Elf, the last and least likely Elf, looked at the thoughtful keeper, “Has her soul gone to Mandos? Will she be there alone as he joins his ancestors in lesser halls beyond the circle?”

Logass chewed on that and admitted, “It is beyond me. We were not told more than we needed to tend these hallowed places. Between us, we will not be here long now. The Wood Elves grow old, so slowly that a generation of man could not tell, but they will age and bear no children. When they are no more, we keepers will not need to remember deeds and lives with no one to hear.”

The keeper said more firmly, “But I become maudlin. What of you? You seem healthy enough.”

“I was not invited to cross, Master keeper, perhaps an orc too long to feel the Valars' call. I was a curiosity among those who look like me just as I was among your folk. But I have learned to live with men. This is their world now. I wake up curious and caring and glad of every bird and breeze. When that stops I may have to consider My Lady’s fate, but it will not be soon. You needn’t stay for me, unless it is to tell tales in fellowship.”

Logass stretched once more and rose into his crouched stance. “Come, Orc Six, let us find you some dinner. I am certain your new story is better than any before.”

As they walked the Elf asked, “I don’t suppose you knew Lúthien and Beren?”

_______________------______________

From Lorien to Emyn Arnen with a good horse takes something under a month. It seemed forever on his way home. He did not stop at the Glittering Caves or Edoras there or back. 

The changeling bowed to the Prince and Princess of Ithilien before hugs. Talienne used her enchanting smile as she said, “You are too long away, dear Uncle.”

“As usual. I went to Lothlórien returning from the east – an act of completion.”

Uncle Nag stayed three days seeing the children he hardly knew. One afternoon the Princely couple and he had tea on a patio. He blew across his cup thinking of his comment to Logass that Legolas might have been the King’s first choice to bear the Queen away. After a sip he asked, “What news of the Elven Prince, grand-daughter?”

Barahir took that, “He sailed away – took the Dwarf Gimli with him.”

That was news, “Do you know when?”

Talienne looked at her husband and replied, “Uhm, we think six months after Elessar became legend.”

Her husband added, “That is an informed guess.”

“So before Lady Arwen died?”

Bara was sure, “Oh yes. I did not know Dwarves would be permitted in the Undying Lands. Perhaps he had special dispensation after the Fellowship, like the halflings.”

That was queer. Legolas did not wait until Arwen died before taking Gimli. He was the best of Durin’s Folk, but not the maid of Lorien. Yes, the firstborn would have known her choice was immutable. 

Slowly walking up the cobblestones, Nag Kath passed by his old house and then went to Reyaldar and Heuris’ home a few blocks further south. Orlon was still saddled and packed since the Elf did not want to presume on their hospitality. They would insist, but he would give them that prerogative. 

Mairn opened the door and said, “Welcome back sir. Please come in. If you will make yourself at home, I’ll let the Conaths know you are here.” Reyald was in the kitchen getting a snack and walked out with a full mouth to a hearty embrace. Heuris came downstairs for her kiss on the cheek. Since nothing ever changed here, it was up to Nag Kath to talk. He told them about the retreats and seeing old friends, Lorien and the dragon pit. 

Heuris had never been quite sure what to make of Uncle Nag. He could be off on fanciful adventures with Dwarves and dark lords one day and sipping tea on their couch the next. Talking about Elves was different. Little girls dream of being beautiful princesses, floating in light with perfect grace. Now Uncle Nag was sad because he could not save the most beautiful of them all. She died of a broken heart when her dashing prince passed beyond the circle. Heuris understood that.

Rey said, “Uncle, you seem tired. Can you take your rest now?”

The Elf smiled, “I think of it as between engagements. The old evils are gone, some by my own hand. What does one do after that? Unless our new King has errands, I think I will stay here or Dol Amroth until inspiration strikes.”

Heuris smiled, “You are welcome to stay here.”

“Thank you. I will for a while. My Syndolan guest list has shrunk. Let me get my things off Orlon …” he looked around the room in jest, “ … Daisy, and make him comfortable after a long, hard trip.”

**_Dear King Eldarion Telcontar,_ **

**_Please accept my belated condolences on the loss of your parents. I am just back from far eastern lands with tidings that may interest you. If I can be of service, I will be here a month and then travel to Dol Amroth._ **

**_Please give my best to Queen Aranthal and all your noble family, NK_ **

****

He needed western clothes for a royal summons, not having replaced most of the moth rags before charging off to the east. Suldath and Leotulden had his measurements so he walked in and told them to make full sets of the usual. They recommended a new boot maker. The Elf made a last stop for ready-made clothes and whatever he needed.

Heuris arranged family dinners with the various heirs of Dale. Son Fieldar was managing Kathen Properties which involved even less work than it had. He was a splendid fellow but happy with the business as it was. Most of the work involved getting a growing list of heirs their payments. The family kept control of the enterprise with the senior male, but heirs got a share. His wife Mazienne gave him four lovely children who were now of marriageable age. They would be the last generation that automatically qualified for the family income. His younger sister Delandreth, mother of Kathlie, married a man of Rohan which explained the child’s wild ginger hair.

Aunt Fëuril never remarried. She had also never forgiven Nag Kath or her father Shurran for ending her wretched marriage. After two invitations to meet the family founder, no one saw the need for a third. Bettes died while Nag Kath was in Angmar and her husband remarried. Simlieo always felt a little awkward with the near-nobility of the Conath/Brand kin. Nag Kath would visit him privately. Their two children were married and would love to have dinner with the famous Uncle Nag! He showed them the dragon picture to acclaim. His big file folios were here and he added to them. When the dust settled, he would ask at the archives for someone who knew Nûradi, although a few of the sheets were ancient Elvish, probably the Black Speech. Both languages had few experts.

The royal invitation arrived the day after his new clothes so he wore them up the hill. Nag Kath had not seen his liege since Angmar. There was fresh news and he might have better wits explaining the old. 

King Eldarion used his father’s office with new furniture in the same places. The Elf bowed and was welcomed warmly. After they were seated, the King said softly, “Thank you for your note. Mother and father are still very much with me and my sisters.”

“I cannot think of a better example for the saying; ‘lives well-lived’, sir.”

The King nodded, “I agree. It seems our great adventure in Angmar finally came to a successful conclusion. For the longest time it was a decisive attack against a defenseless enemy. Then it was finally won with a flash. I am sorry it was so hard on you, my friend.”

The Elf replied, “I went east for healing after the ice cave. Being so close to the evil Witch-stone for all those years left me scarred in ways I could not tell. The Dwarves did not benefit from sitting on the gold they reclaimed from Smaug.”

Eldarion asked about the dragon when Queen Aranthal entered and was greeted with a deep bow. She said graciously, “Please, sir knight, be seated. Are you regaling my husband with great tales?”

“I was, My Lady. We were speaking of the little dragon that burst out of the pit to destroy a palace. I spoke with him before he flew away. Poor thing was confused and unsteady. He had waited thousands of years to ransack an empty building. To great good fortune, he was not instructed to sow death in the land. Then he did not know what to do with himself.”

She sipped her tea and asked, “And what will you do with yourself, Lord Kath?”

“I have not given myself a satisfactory answer for that question, ma’am. My grandson in Dol Amroth is elderly. I will go see that branch of the family after I have seen the ones here.”

The Queen said cheerfully, “Including the ones in Emyn Arnen. They are very dear to us. Our own children are having children now; some of them close in age to your brood.”

“You keep better track than their doddering Uncle Nag.”

Eldarion became more serious, asking, “Lord Kath, please tell me more of Orlo. I do not know his role in all of this.”

“I have bits and pieces, Sire. He was a sorcerer who fomented dissent among the subjects of the dark princes and servants of Sauron. I only met him twice, the last when he brought me back to life in the ice cave. It was then he confirmed becoming spirit to avoid death at Sauron’s hands, like Sauron himself escaping Numenor. Orlo was with me in the cave for five years, only able to speak three days each year.”

Eldarion asked, “So he was effective even reduced.”

“Just so, sir. Every soldier he kept off the Pelennor, and two thousand years of other battles, was one less who could have turned the tide for the enemy. My friends there are his adherents, working in shadow all those generations. They still advocate against dark spirits in the breast of man by holding true to that which is worthy in us.”

“And there is no mention of him in lore?”

“He was only of Sauron’s lands and not popular with those few who wrote for the archives. In the three retreats, they gather what they can and now write the spoken tales.”

Lady Aranthal sighed, “I hope we are quit of those who wish darkness returned.”

“I hope so too, My Lady. There will be fewer, but like the little boy in Angmar, powers find vessels.”

Eldarion wondered, "The lad who had the disease?"

Nag Kath realized he had not explained himself well after stumbling back from the ice cave, "Sire, he was the disease, a very powerful sorcerer – though he probably did not know it."

“More powerful than you, Nag Kath?”

“He would have been. The ruler had lesser powers and used the boy for his ends. Another year or two and one of them would have to die. I suspect he left the lad for the orcs coming that night.”

The King was surprised by that and asked, “Then you did not fight the orcs?”

“No My Lord. We arrived in the daytime and all died of the sorcerous pox. I used a spell to defeat it and killed the child sowing it. As is their way, the orcs probably stashed bodies in the cave for food and later betrayed the Seer.

  
The King wondered why the orcs did not fight. The Seer must have planned for Reunited forces to follow the orcs or flank the Seer’s troops through the plague village. It was a much nearer thing than they realized at the time. The Queen was a hardened lass of Arnor and understood war. She wondered, “It could not have been men who took you there?”

Against the grim subject, Nag Kath smiled, “Men would have emptied my pockets first.”

Lady Aranthal laughed, “There are no such dangers here, sir. We hope to see more of you. Princess Millicend is often here as well.”

Eldarion chimed in, “Aye, here or on the farm. Milli’s children make their way back and forth as well. Inara is mostly in Dol Amroth or at Lord Kolland’s estates in Belfalas. Perhaps you will see them there.”

Nag Kath recalled the little girl staring at him painting flowers and smiled. “Perhaps, Sire.”

  
______________------_____________

  
The Elf fell into good habits. He got to know some of the younger Conaths and tried to find someone among the scholars who could read the old Cheyan script. Friends would ask friends. He did not hold his breath.

In December Nag Kath took the ferry to Pelargir and then around the cape to Dol Amroth. Caladrion was holding strong at one hundred and five. He still lived with Callistra in a split house which was close to the water so he could walk in town. There was a pair of new babies. Prince Imrothil was ailing. 

The Elf bought the house next to Cal’s and another little boat for sailing and fishing. There were no Nûrad scholars here. Pushing his luck, he called on the Ambassador of Thân zîrân thinking they were geographically closer than anyone else. He was a good fellow and glad to meet the Elf who started this business, but did not recognize the language. They had wine occasionally to discuss the active trade between the Numenoreans and the north.

Time went by slowly. Dol Amroth had not had an inductive healer for twenty years. There were fewer everywhere. The woman he tested in Minas Tirith was still there but she was the only one. That magic was dissipating too. His own was getting stronger. He thought because it was such a mishmash of styles.

Things changed when massive snowstorms hit the windward side of the Nimrais mountains above Lamedon. This side of the range always got more snow than Rohan but weather came in wet and low and stayed. Then it got very cold. A lot of water would be coming down the Ringlo and Morthond Rivers come spring.

In April it got hot, quickly. Folk who could went to their properties inland or sailed elsewhere. Within two weeks, fevers were breaking out in Edhellond. As people fled, it reached Dol Amroth. This area seldom got fevers like the Anduin flats but they had happened. 

Having seen more than his share of these, Nag Kath appropriated a hastily abandoned warehouse between the War and Working Harbors and started healing. As water-fevers went this was on the mild side, but it was catching. He drew enough for the person to recover but would not take so much that it drained him. Each night he collapsed on a makeshift cot. A few people who had been cured stayed to brew the vile teas and roots patients should take. 

Except for the sick and those who dared to help, citizens of the Island stayed as far above the water as possible. Good folk brought food to the gates. The fever went on for almost two weeks and then, as fevers often do, vanished. Nag Kath’s rough estimate was that over three hundred patients came to the warehouse and most left on their own two feet.

The Elf stumbled to his house and slept like a bear for the next three days but was surprised at how spry he felt waking. The owners of the warehouse were disgruntled. Most people were glad of him, from a distance. Two weeks after that, things were back to normal. Cal stayed home since the elderly and infants were at greatest risk from these poxes. His housekeeper brought tea when Nag woke. 

The rest of the relatives had no idea what to make of him now. They had only ever heard of his wild doings elsewhere. Such things were only supposed to happen elsewhere. He was also dead. The Prince’s second son Lord Hurmandor remained in the city and proclaimed Nag Kath a Lord of Galador, no one having looked that he already was one. The Elf accepted with good grace.

Catanard season started in a month. The first was the comedy, ‘She Never Told Me’. The six seats were to go to Grenda Conath, Cal, Nag Kath, Raniece and her husband and their younger daughter. It never occurred to anyone to find an eligible lady for Uncle Nag. He had a good time just the same and got a man-cart for Cal after two goblets in the Lion’s Beard. With so many great and great, great grandchildren of the original box seat recipient, Nag Kath wasn’t in the rotation until the fifth show, a long, dismal tragedy where almost no one lives at the end. 


	5. Awaiting Release

**_Chapter 5_ **

**_Awaiting Release_ **

The map of Southern Gondor helps here. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

In the meantime, reports trickled in that flooding on the Morthond caused a great deal of damage as well as sickness. Bored and needing purpose, the Elf decided to ride that way and be of use. He had seen exotic lands far away but had not even seen most of Gondor. This seemed right-living. Nag Kath bought a Lossarnach mare in Belfalas. Lembas was baked from almost all of the necessary ingredients. Even when he could find them, something was still missing. At least it didn't go stale.

The western bank of the Ringlo was where the flooding was the worst. With more grade than the low points on the Anduin, it was well within its banks now, but many little settlements here were gone. So were most of the people who successfully fled west to the foothills. They were trickling back now. Farmers were able to plant late wheat with vegetables. Surviving fruit trees blossomed. 

Nag Kath spent three weeks in the area helping people recover what they could and chasing cows back to their owners. There was healing needed as well. Quite a few fever sufferers now had trouble with their lungs. Herbs were gathered and he pulled chest complaints. 

More people returned from the hills and seemed to have matters in hand so he rode another day upriver where the Ringlo and Morthond merge. The fair-sized town of Glanhir was high enough above the confluence to avoid flooding. Nag Kath took the ferry across the Ringlo and found lodging at a good inn with a stable. Of course, it had a tavern too. Two merchants from the Celenhir, some sixty miles up the Morthond, said there had been flooding where those rivers met. A royal bridge had washed-out and the Governor of Lamedon in Calembel was sending a deputation to the White City to ask that it be replaced. They did not know that it would be. 

Aragorn liked bridges. Nag Kath knew because he designed and built several of them. The unwritten understanding was that a royal bridge would be funded by the crown using local laborers and then it was the province’s responsibility to maintain it. Losing a bridge in a flood wasn’t an issue of maintenance, but it wasn’t the King’s obligation to build another either. This was the first such bridge washed away in the reign of Eldarion so the emissaries went with uncertain hopes. 

Far away Lamedon did not have the clout of the Principalities. From the area near Erech, it was easier to reach Anórien using the summer passes into Rohan rather than riding all the way to Dol Amroth and sailing back almost the same way you came, that or they could take the same ride Nag Kath did across Belfalas and Lebennin. It was a bountiful region of Gondor but not close to power with uneven roads. These merchants thought the King would build a new bridge eventually, but it might be years before they worked their way up the list.

Nag Kath introduced himself as one of Aragorn’s architects and asked about the project saying, “I would be glad to ride there and send my assessment with your good advocates.”

The older of the two considered, “They may have already gone but it cannot hurt. Getting paid for your work will be harder. If Calembel is the back of beyond to Minas Tirith, the Celenhir is the same to Calembel. And the Magister is, shall we say, frugal.”

The other man laughed, “He still has his first two silvers to rub together.”

The older grinned, “As I said, do not go expecting a fat commission for your advocacy.”

Nag Kath said, “I will go anyway and perhaps earn an ale and a bed. Who is this parsimonious administrator?”

The younger replied, “Name of Horus Delathannan. His man Kimbrand sees to the roads but not the purse. I would start with Kimbrand.”

The Elf spent a day loafing around the pleasant town. The better road along the north bank of the Morthond had washed out so Nag Kath and took the ferry to the west the next morning. His mare, Eliesse, was better on water than Nemren and they pushed onto the bank half a bell later. The road veered away from the river on the west bank avoiding low bogs for the first two days and then followed it closely for the next two until reaching what was left of the bridge across the Celenhir. A makeshift ferry had been hastily built using a winch horse that would rather be anywhere else. Nag Kath camped on the south bank and sketched the footings in some detail before crossing the next day. He drew that side too. The town supported by this road was another five miles north after recrossing the Morthond. 

Fheren-Rhan was no great city but it had inns, stables and taverns like every other hamlet in Gondor. It might boast three thousand souls on market day. The main road all the way to Erech was on the west side of the Morthond so losing the bridge mattered to the town and trade along the entire east bank. Nag Kath walked the city alone, as he usually did in new places, and inquired of Mr. Kimbrand.

For some reason, he thought the administrator would be a bright young spark moving up in the local order. Mr. Kimbrand was sixty if he was a day and moved no faster than the winch horse. Undaunted, the Elf said, “Good afternoon, sir. I am Nag Kath and wanted to offer my services to help you rebuild your bridge.”

Kimbrand saw in Nag Kath what Nag Kath expected of Kimbrand. Usually people asked if he was a son of the slain warrior but the first thing out of Kimbrand’s mouth was, “You’ll not see a copper! That was a royal bridge. The county has no funds for it because the province has not approved it – and that’s because we don’t know if King Eldarion will pay for another. Do I make myself clear, young man?”

“Oh, I don’t need any money. I will sketch a replacement with notes your fellows can take to the White City and plead your case.”

“Are you mad or simple?”

“Both, but I know bridges and I know the King. Take it or leave it.”

“Forgive my petulance, young man. It should be me showing you patience and courtesy. Now, what did you have in mind?”

Nag Kath answered, “I made drawings of both foundations. The south bank is good. The north will need to be rebuilt. I think the river channel needs to be dug deeper on the south bank to protect the north. Give me a few days to polish my drawings and I will return for your assessment.”

“That is the fairest offer I’ve gotten since I married-off my niece; a woman neither pleasant nor favored. Now, what do you need from me?”

“Can you recommend an inn with a good cook?”

True to his word, the Elf rode Eliesse back to the north bank and sketched what was needed. Kimbrand did not have the original plans or even a drawing of the bridge during the seventy years it stood. Like Tharbad and Osgiliath, it had a center support sunk into the riverbed that was intact but the top tore-off when the span twisted in the flood. It could be rebuilt. By the end of the day he had his rough drawings and by the end of the next he had something for Mr. Kimbrand. The man was optimistic. They talked about where to get new stone and how many men could be retained if the Purse of the White City dribbled a few groats this way. Kimbrand suggested they have dinner the next evening with Magister Delathannan, again with the caveat that there was no budget.

As it happened, the Magister was already having dinner with a Magister Bennenthar of Rendûl, a county seat some eighty miles north with about four thousand citizens. The bridge was part-and-parcel of his business with a fellow administrator so they would all meet at the Delathannan’s home the next evening.

The functionary wondered if he was kin to Angmar Kath before greeting, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kath. This is Mr. Bennenthar. Now, you are visiting from Dol Amroth, is it?”

“I am, Mr. Delathannan. As it happens, I am a bridge engineer and heard of the troubles just downstream.”

The Magister wasn’t sure of the young man’s interest but he was here and Kimbrand said he had been of service. Both Magisters’ problem was that they were on the wrong side of the province. The Cirith was no great river but that was home to the ill-placed capital. Every river here was destined for Dol Amroth. None of them were navigable the entire way because of rapids and falls, another reason replacing the bridge mattered.

They sat down and were served wine. Magister Bennenthar asked, “It is none of my concern but what did you have in mind, young sir?”

The Elf thought a moment and said, “I did a detailed sketch of how I would construct a new bridge. If it meets with your approval, I would leave it with you and write a letter to King Eldarion on your behalf. You gentlemen would have to supply the costs since I do not know the price of stone and men in this community.” He could have just given them a diamond but this needed local initiative too.

Delathannan quickly announced, “That is most generous, sir,” to cut-short anything the young engineer might say about compensation.

The administrator would look at the drawings in the morning, for all the good they thought the fellow’s letter to the King of the Reunited Kingdom would do. That freed the rest of the evening for other matters. Towards the end of the meal, Kimbrand, of an age to speak his mind in any company, said to the northern Magister, “Mr. Bennenthar, we had the queerest news that ghosts were seen near Erech again.”

The man scoffed, “People have always been frightened in those mountains. Womanish vapors if you ask me!”

Delethannan kept the thread going, “Come now, they certainly had been there in their thousands. Might there not be a few left?”

Since he could not get out of this by being dismissive, the man replied, “I have never seen them but I have only been to Erech the town, not the stone. It is the mountains off to the east where these wives-tales are spawned.”

Elf ears were interested, “Your pardon, gentlemen, is this the army of the dead recalled by Elessar, newly raised to lordship?”

Kimbrand answered, “The same, then freed after honoring their vows to Isuldur. Do you know those mountains, Mr. Kath?”

“I know them well from the other side. This is my first visit to the windward.”

Having shown he was not a gossip, Bennenthar was as interested as everyone else, “There is a great round stone said placed there by Elendil. I cannot imagine it coming from elsewhere but it is of different rock than those around. That is where the men of those mountains swore their oath to the ring bearer.”

The curious young fellow asked in earnest, “Did the stone have powers or was that merely the meeting place for their commitment?”

Kimbrand, who had been there when he was the age they assumed Nag Kath to be, wondered, “Who knows? I only raised the question because a company of merchants bought enough silver in the Tarlang mountains that it was worth taking the long, safe way on the Morthond Road. The first ferry was unstable and they grudgingly waited until another was fashioned before making for the coast. Their kinsmen said there were new sightings when the great green shock was felt, when was that, my friends?”

Delethannan finished his mouthful and answered, “When the star got brighter? Five years, there abouts.”

Magister Bennenthar was here to discuss other concerns as well as the bridge. From his city, merchants could take inland routes to bypass most of the rough ground around the Celenhir but there were fords on that side as well, none of them bridged, a hard road for wagons. As the two administrators for the western part of the province, they combined their voices to make western wheels squeak loudly in councils. Bennenthar was staying a few more days before the five day trip home.

Nag Kath said as offhandedly as possible, “Then, sir, if you would like the company, may I join you as an extra trooper on your journey?”

“Certainly, and welcomed. There are few troublemakers on that stretch but perhaps fewer with an armed party. You look like you can swing a sword.”

“At need, best of sirs. At need.”

With time, the Elf did more detailed sketches with copies for both sides and wrote a letter in Sindarin to King Eldarion since he knew the man read it and nobody between here and there would. This was not especially secret or biased one way or the other. He had done many such assessments for Aragorn on the aqueduct and other road projects. 

Still amazed they were not presented with a bill, his hosts thanked the tall engineer as he joined the Magister’s company of two outriders following the Morthond due north. Two days out they crossed the bridge on a smaller river and took rooms at an inn, brewers of a heartier ale than below. The road was good and elevated from the river. Wagons still came this way and took the ferry.

They crossed another bridge at noon of the fourth day and camped just on the other side. It took that long for the escort riders to say much to the blonde rider. As bandits go; the risk was always greater that the man with them was secretly in league with raiders. Bennenthar thought better, but it was the escorts’ job to watch for such things. Now on their home turf, they knew the bad ‘uns. 

The next morning the party crossed a toll-bridge. This had been built by the town of Nimrais Fennan before the royal bridges, which entitled them to payment from those wanting to keep their feet dry. They were not about to charge their own Magister’s party, but did not share tolls with the county either. It appeared to the engineer among them that tolls were not going into upkeep.

They arrived in Rendûl a few hours before sunset. Unusually, the river leading to the Morthond came from mountains to the east dividing the flows here or to the Ciril. Rendûl was a working market town of farmers and a few craftsmen. Like the ferry in Dunland, the eastern river broadened the stream enough for floated logs from above to be gathered and sawed into planks for use here or downstream. The no-cost extra guard had dinner with Bennenthar and his family and slept in a feather bed, locking the door against a lovelorn daughter at odds with her husband.

Erech was another hundred miles north into a deep mountain valley. The lay of the land put it the same distance from the capital Calembel with a good road that not many folk had reason to use since it was easier to get ore and metal pigs down the river road. Everything ended-up at Glanhir anyway.

Climbing into the foothills there was considerably more deep forest than in the river valley leading to Rendûl. They did not feel ominous. He took his time but did not camp or travel with others because Eliesse had come into season. Even at a distance, she and would-be admirers called to each other.

That ended about the time he reached Erech, a fair town of fifteen hundred and the last place of any size in central Gondor. An inn had its own stable with a single stall against stallions still interested. Nag Kath took his leisure and lolled around the market town innocently gathering information. At two taverns there was no shortage of ghost stories. Most were old but recalled because of more recent rumblings since the 'green shock’. 

The Elf evesdropped on four local doyens chatting publicly during lunch about the stone. The meadow was a place to avoid for people of wisdom but many had been there in their youth, proof of bravery and for fun in full daylight. Touching the stone entitled one to opinions for life. They prattled-on about another friend’s daughter who walked there with townsfolk, properly chaperoned, mind, and felt strange humors. That could be from the excitement of a genuine and confirmed place of great magic from the last Age.

It would have been one story among the many but the girl, a comely lass nearing marriageable age, had shown other signs of being close to the spirit world. The women were aware of the handsome stranger two tables over and didn’t mind him saying, “Your pardon, ladies. I could not help but overhear your informed conversation. Do you speak of the Brelland daughter?” He used the name on a sign over a storage depot thinking its namesake might still be here.

The largest and most opinionated of them said, “No, not her. This is Miss Clellid of a proper and esteemed family of Erech!”

“It must have been a terrible shock to be affected thusly.”

Another of the busybodies added, “Her mother did not say as much, only that the maiden seemed thoughtful and wondering of those now gone. It is said spirits remain in those hills to the east.”

A third in their group thought less; “Silly talk of old ladies, young sir. My friends return to this theme when we have nothing else to discuss.”

The first said in good cheer, “Now Grace, you know that is both untrue and unkind. Young man, there have been reports of that region since I was a girl, longer ago than I will admit, with more lately. Farmers in those mountain villages are always in confusion and arguing.”

The fourth woman finally made her case; “That is because of all the trolls in their day. Dead armies are bad enough but those trolls were the real menace!”

The Elf said affably, “Well, I hope they are long gone.”

The Clellid family had a small smithy making parts for wagons, households and whatever else someone wanted. They were blessed with three children; a girl and boy already married and the younger lass still at home. By the most fortunate coincidence, the tall traveler needed a new stirrup bolt. With previous orders it would not be fashioned until tomorrow, but he could count on the best craftsmanship in all of Erech!

Daughter Tulieri brought her da and brother their lunch every day. The customer just happened to be there placing his order. He bowed in city fashion to the attractive young lady. A handshake would have told him what he needed to know but that was not a country custom between men and women. Unexpectedly, the sure-handed girl dropped the breaded cutlet she was handing to her father and the customer was right there to catch it, handing it to her with the slightest touching of skin. Tulieri curtsied in thanks, kissed her da and went home.

She had it. Faint, but there. Nag Kath could not tell sorcery but she could be a healer if she knew and applied herself. That was not a vocation he would wish on anyone. Like Tal, a suitable young man would prefer a family. The Elf would arrange a conversation with her, and wouldn’t you know it, he lost his fishhooks along the river!

At lunch time the next day, he was back for his stirrup bolt and wanted to see if they could fashion new fishhooks. Brother Tuliesh said he could forge them in just a few moments if the gentleman could wait. The gentleman could. 

When lunch arrived, he bowed again as a city man and said to the smith, “Now what is this about ghosts east of town? I tell you; the tavern was nothing but yarns about demons and specters.”

Older Mr. Clellid opined, “It is as you said; drinkers pulling the longbow over evening beverages.”

The younger man teased his blushing sister, “Not according to some I know.”

Tulieri smiled bashfully and spoke for the first time in the presence of the dashing fisherman, “Brother, you defame me before your customer.”

Her da defended too, “Aye, we are craftsmen of fair goods, not idle chatter.”

Chastened, brother begged pardon. But the hook was set. The tall fellow turned to the lass, “Forgive me if this is not for my ears …” which were covered by his hair, “… have you been to this legendary stone?”

She blushed again and held her hands together looking down, managing to say, “I was there only a month ago with a respectable group of townsmen and women. It is our only claim to fame in sleepy Erech and some have picnics there.”

Brother couldn’t hold his tongue long, “It is long said that when the great army joined the Elessar, some lingered, cowards!”

The blonde offered, “Or just late. In militia training, there are always men or even squads who arrive after they should. I don’t see why dead soldiers should be any more punctual.”

Da chuckled, “I had not considered that but you are right. I myself arrived at the nine-bell when I should have been there at eight, got to carry oats in penance for my inattention.” 

The unexplained visitor ventured, “Well, since I am here, I suppose I should say I saw this local landmark. There are those in the city who daily bless the spirits of your lands who finally earned their rest. It might get me an ale or two in the telling.”

Brother managed to break one of the hooks for lack of focus, stabbing himself in the finger. “Dougsh! My craft suffers.”

Da cried, “Hear, hear! Such language is not for your maiden sister’s or paying customer’s ears. Get thee home so your mother can heal that clumsy finger and be back here to complete your charge. Off you go. Daughter, make sure he doesn’t trip over his feet on the way!”

To the Elf the smith added, “It might be another hour before your hooks, which is my fault.”

“Please, sir, I have other business in the town and can return, if not later, tomorrow at my lunch hour. Think no more of it.”

The next day Tulieri arrived with enough food for all of them. The tall man was invited to join and asked of his journeys to this out-of-the-way hamlet. Having planned this he said, “I had business in Rendûl and then thought to visit family in Edoras taking the summer passes. I confess; I am a poor sailor and prefer land under my feet.”

Brother, whose finger quickly healed, offered, “Not a bad crossing this time of year. The trail is plainly marked.”

Nag Kath said, “Miss, if it is not unseemly, how does one reach this storied rock?”

“It is just east of us, seven miles climbing into the mountains. For such a steed as yours, not any great distance.”

The blonde man, not a lad after Angmar, said strongly, “Now I caution myself! I shudder to imagine fell ghosts confronting me for trespass.” He looked directly at the maiden, “What would one say to these malingerers?”

“They hardly noticed such as me.”

_______________------______________

The huge, rounded stone was sunk in the earth as if dropped from heaven. There had been picnics and campfires nearby over the years. Young men slept here at night to prove their courage. Nag Kath was the only soul near and had not passed anyone returning. For a summer's day, there was a chill in the air. 

By accounts, the ghost army was in the mountains due north. This was just the place they had pledged their service and were reminded of it by Aragorn. Isuldur bound these warriors in his cause using the One Ring. He cursed them when they refused to fight against Sauron who they had worshiped before the Numenoreans seized these lands. They died as men, but their spirits lingered from Isuldur’s curse. 

The ring was the only sorcery used, and not by Sauron’s hand. The Angmarach had no part in this, other than to die, for the second time, as his armies were slaughtered by these spirits. One would think any of them left behind would have been released in the unmaking, but credible folk felt them here. Nag Kath approached the stone and held his palms against the pitted surface to summon them. The sensation was slow in coming. The girl said they hardly noticed her, but hardly is quite a bit. His touch was a clarion. They would arrive at night.

When the half-moon was high, shadows of men swirled, constantly reforming in the slight breeze. Nag Kath counted eight of them. Their women must have gone to their ancestors after natural lives lived in shame. He walked towards them unarmed. They would not fear steel. A voice from their direction but not attributable to any asked, “Who are you to summon the dead?”

“Ah, but you are not dead, not in the sense that you have gone to the halls of those who truly died.”

“And what keeps us from killing you, foolish man?”

“I am not a man, and have already been dead. I would hear your plea and help if I can.”

The specters had to consider that. They were more mist than he remembered in his cell. Those ghosts wielded terrible weapons against the orcs and men storming Minas Tirith. The spirits of the Dead Marshes had not had that ability restored to them, but they were getting closer before the child sorcerer died.

While the soldiers thought, Nag Kath added, “I have put thousands of cursed spirits to rest. I will do the same for you if it is within my power.”

One of the ghosts floated towards him and demanded, “What price would you extract, were you capable of such release?” 

“None. I have already been paid in full. Come, tell me why you are still here and how many of you remain.”

Another of them came forth. He seemed an older man, not that that would matter after three thousand years of disembodiment, but he may have been an elder in the time of trust. There was no sitting over tea with this lot. They floated above where they would have stood, taller than the tall Elf.

The image said in a low, grave voice, “We could not reach our army. The vast caves under the mountain were our home without flesh. When they left, the way was resealed. We linger in torment.”

Nag Kath noted, “But you appear to me now, brave knight.”

“The spirit of a spirit. Our more potent selves are still entombed.”

The first ghost, who seemed to be the war leader, said with disdain, “Here is another tourist come to prove his manhood. In the cavern I would take his head and add it to the skulls long moldered!”

Acting the hayseed had its uses but this was the time to show what else he claimed. Using a bringing spell, not certain to work on the spirit of a spirit, Nag Kath jerked the war leader to him just as his former King had surprised another chieftain to enforce his rightful claim to the crown. 

The ghost’s throat was gripped by Nag Kath’s hand as if flesh and he heard, “If there is a chance at all, this is your last. Take me to your place of death and I will use such powers as I have to aid. I make no warranty. I am not a King. I am the last immortal. Accept that freely or I will return to my home and leave you to curse your sloth.”

He released the ghost who was stunned by physical force so long past. The older, wiser spirit spoke to him silently and said to Nag Kath, “We accept your offer, but cannot take you with us. It is a two day ride to our prison. Such as you will know the path. Secure your horse in the rock paddock to the left as she will flee at our nearness. We will prepare.”

They were gone. Eliesse never noticed them. Aragorn and Gimli both told the Elf that their horses, seasoned war-mounts, had bolted uncontrollably nearing the Dunharrow side of their gaol. Whatever was waiting there still had lethal power.

The road continued on the west side of the river, now fordable without swimming. There were little towns of farmers who looked at him strangely. He stayed with one of them, paying what the couple thought was a princely sum of five groats for him to rest in the straw. This was also the road to the Rohan pass so there was no presumption he was knocking on the gates of the dead. When the pass road forked off to the left, he followed his nose straight up the barest of trails into the rocks.

There was almost no life, not even the briars of Mordor. It seemed as if crags were covered in dry mud and no plant ever pushed through. Eliesse was on guard. They picked their way over the slate and gravel until arriving at a rough arch leading into the cliff. As told, there was a natural paddock of stone to the side. Nag Kath dumped his sack of oats and tied the mare to a rock but loosened the halter-buckle behind her ear. If he never emerged, she would get free. 

Light dimmed walking down a long corridor with the last of the sun before he turned into a larger hall. He counted his slow steps while letting his eyes adapt. Forty paces in, the blackness was complete so he lit his hand silver showing steep caverns below. They had to come to him.

They did. 

Swirls of faint light gathered and dissipated around his ankles; seeming yap-dogs to his intrusion. They flared and left. An eternity of minutes passed before the wise ghost came before him, much easier to see here than by moonlight. The elder said in great sorrow, “You are braver than we have been, to our shame. Seventy-four of us remain; most late, some frozen by fear when we were called. How long ago was that? There is no time here.”

“One hundred twenty five years. I remember your kind in the battle. I was the enemy then but was spared. In my secret mind I wonder that it was to complete these tasks.”

Two more of the apparitions appeared. They might all be there and simply not visible. Nag Kath would speak as if to the host. A sergeant asked, “How were our brothers released?”

“They joined in battle against the armies of Sauron. When the field was won, the King said their oath was fulfilled and they faded away, I hope to join their parents in noble halls beyond the circle.” Some of them would have been relatives of those here now.

The warrior formed and asked less harshly than at the stone, “And was their oath complete? Did our people serve as they should have long ago?”

Nag Kath considered that before saying, “Yes. It was not in victory or loss. It was that they fought, still a near thing against such terrible foes. It is not my place to say, but I think King Elessar acquitted you all.”

In sadness, the war leader pleaded, “If so, what can you do to give us better deaths than the ones we have endured?”

The Elf raised his eyes to the vastness, calling out, “Show yourselves to me!”

Gradually, shadows of men formed, their dim light showing the cavern was quite large. There were no signs of living; no cooking or sleeping or rooms. These people simply floated after everything that made them men turned to dust.

Nag Kath walked in their midst and raised his hands with a spell he had only imagined. It was the humor to take orc from man and send it into the night. These were not former orcs. It was the good in them he wanted to pull, not the evil. Still, it was the only spell he had and their last Third Age remedy.

Both hands glowed bright silver. It became its own mist over the heads of the ghosts. The spell was painful for him to hold but in a few minutes, their own faint yellow essence drifted up to meet his silver cloud until both vanished. He fell on his backside like he had in the Angmar hut and looked into blackness. None spoke to him. He hoped they went where they should. After an eternity rising and counting his steps in what seemed the right direction, he saw the glimpse of afternoon sun and walked outside.

Eliesse was gone. Her halter was still attached to the rope around the rock. The saddle and pack were as they lay so he stumbled to them for water and a bite of Lembas. Then he slept. 

It might have been a day later, perhaps two, but when he opened his eyes, the horse was eating what was left of the oats. No words would come until he unstuck his tongue with a sip of water. “Forgive me, old girl. I have been keeping odd company. Come; let us return to the living.” 

Nag Kath rode back to the inn in Erech. There was no use explaining. He did not tell the smithy that his daughter, and probably his wife, were healers. It would only cause them pain.


	6. Bridges

**_Chapter 6_ **

**_Bridges_ **

After the army of the dead spell, Nag Kath pushed on that day and the next but decided he needed one more good night’s sleep and counted himself fortunate to find a farmer offering a bed, a fine dinner and good company at his table. The community was really an extended family with fertile ground on the western bank of the Morthond River just north of a strong tributary pouring in from the foothills. 

He woke refreshed and was talking with his host while saddling Eliesse when one of the farmer’s many nephews called from the river’s edge, “Uncle, we found another.”

The man seemed perplexed and wandered towards the water with Nag Kath leading his horse behind. Stabbed into the bank was a huge, squared beam of hardwood. It was old and still floated so it had not been wet long. The Elf wasn’t interested until he got a whiff. It was not so much what the beam was for but who had used it. It smelled of troll.

He called down to another nephew, “What have you got there, young man?”

The farmer, not yet twenty, shouted, “Floods upriver must have swept this away. If we can get a rope on it, someone will want it.”

The Elf was about to mention it reeked of the rankest creatures ever to blight Middle-earth when he remembered that men don’t seem to notice so much. The two young fellows left to organize the rest of the family along with a pair of mules to haul it up the bank. Nag Kath turned to his host and wondered, “Just curious. What is up that river?”

The farmer, long past hauling beams, replied, “Occasional farms all the way up to the mountains and a fair-sized town as the valley ends. Most of our trade here is supplies for them.”

The curious traveler wondered, “I would think that ground too rugged for farming.”

His host thought about that a moment, “So it seems from here, but after the rise it flattens-out. It is a half-day’s ride up that canyon before the mountains. They trade carvings and metalwork in exchange. What I can't figure is; there aren't any buildings yonder of the scale for this timber.”

The guest forded the tributary and then took an unexpected detour up the river seeing occasional farms until the valley narrowed to broken rock. By late afternoon the river was joined by a vigorous tributary from the left. The better road went that way too. Figuring the beam hadn’t come from that direction, Nag Kath took what quickly became a deer trail along the main flow as it poured down from peaks over the horizon. This was not good footing for Eliesse so he told her to stay by the last patch of grass and took the small pack with food and troll-hunting supplies. 

Trolls are not the sharpest tools in the shed but they are good at hiding their lairs. Shelter has to be big enough to fit them with a large entrance but not exposed to southern sun. Sometimes they appropriated Dwarf mines already bolstered with beams to hold loose ceilings. Nag Kath had been hiking a couple bells when he saw one of the mountain faces had collapsed just like above the beast pool. That would be treacherous footing so he swung wider to the east to approach where the sunless, north entrance would have been.

That took another couple hours and was nearing dark so he made a fireless camp and nibbled on Lembas, waiting for dawn. When it came he craned his neck near the northern edge of the slide and saw part of a hard-rock cave that had not collapsed with the softer soil. Footing was fair and he was able to enter the hole. What had been the back of the lair was now the front but it was still protected from the rain, if not sun. A quick look around showed their weapons, captured weapons of men, a small coin box with nippers and silvers and the usual bones and filth of the breed. Under a layer of dust was a box with a half-inch of papers in yet another language he did not recognize. He would put it with his other unreadable documents. 

A closer look showed there were men’s tools, ancient armor and quite a few odds and ends that folk might have use for. Nag Kath didn’t so he put the paper-box in his pack. His plan was to reach the bridge where the two rivers joined and tell the folk in the town about the hoard that had been stolen from their ancestors so long ago. 

Turning up the tributary there was a bridge. On one side was an arrow with the carving ‘Tulan Nimrais 2 miles’ pointing upstream on the near side of the span. He crossed and saw another sign that said the exact same thing. Either way was fine by him so he stayed on the path along the west side of the flow and made the town half a bell later. It might have four hundred people; larger than he was expecting. Arable land continued into the foothills further than was visible from the crossing. Looking for an inn, the road took him nearer the river gorge where there was a like-sized town several hundred paces from the flow on the other side. Between them was a deep chasm and bridge footings that had collapsed well before the ring war.

A woman filling buckets from a rivulet pond said he might find lodging a hundred paces further up the hill. It wouldn’t qualify as an inn most places, but a wing on one of the more prosperous homes had a room to let, including dinner. Guests were scarce. A lethargic young man was sitting in front eating his lunch when Nag Kath tied the horse to a post. The fellow said his mother handled that and she was shopping. With only a dozen stores on this side of the river, that couldn’t take long so Nag Kath walked over to the cliff. It was deep in a rock lined bed about sixty feet across by that far down. Having seen enough rivers, he walked back and sat in the chair the indolent fellow vacated. 

A quarter of a bell later, what could only be the mother walked up with her basket and said, “Who are you?”

“I am Nag Kath. Someone told me you have rooms to let.”

“Oh, good.” She tried to open the door with one hand until the polite renter managed the latch and took her basket. She asked him to place it by the basin and said, “Six groats a night, includes dinner, one groat extra for meat.”

He responded, “That seems fair. Tell me, why does the town across the chasm have the same name.”

She walked him back to a small but clean room before saying, “Used to be the same town until the bridge collapsed. They won’t fix it.”

He thought a moment and wondered, “Why don’t you both fix it?”

Without looking up she said, “Dinner will be ready two hours before sunset.”

So much for the plan to tell the town about their patrimony. If he told one, the other would miss. If he told them both, they would fight about it. Nag Kath had all the armor and farm implements he needed. As always, the answer would be in a tavern. 

After an edible meal with the woman, her farmer husband and their sullen son, Nag Kath walked to where the farmer said was the best pub in Tulan Nimrais. There was no discussion of that being this Tulan Nimrais. Either he was the guest of the evening or the business would come later. By what would have been the next bell, eighteen or so men had gathered to share a local red ale and discuss events of interest. Elf ears heard the usual banter but never a word about the people on the other side.

With the sun he had the woman hold his room for several more nights and rode to the lower bridge. From there he came up the other side of the gorge to Tulan Nimrais, the easterly, and saw much the same thing. The town was a little bigger with farms drifting in from their side of the valley. This place did have an inn and a tavern with the same sort of stories by the same sort of men. 

He got the same answers why there were two towns with the same name. Wasn’t it as plain as the nose on his face? The other side had not repaired the bridge! Other than that they didn’t seem too mad so Nag Kath announced his purpose; “Sirs, I am to deliver a message to the town of Tulan Nimrais.”

Helpfully, a potter said, “You can tell the council tomorrow evening.”

“But what of the other side of the river?”

“What of them?”

“My message is for everyone.”

The fellow seemed to be serious about helping but admitted, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

The next evening, an irritated Elf walked into the town hall packed with about a hundred citizens who wanted to know if Mr. Eaphel intended to fence his cow out of the community garden. Nag Kath listened to well-reasoned arguments why the community shouldn’t have to put up a fence since only the neighbors would benefit. Without coming to any decisions, the high alderman said, “Is there any new business to bring before the council?”

Nag Kath stood and said, “There is, sir. I am charged to deliver a message to the town of Tulan Nimrais but cannot because there are two of them.”

An alder who had not enjoyed the cow discussion growled, “Tell us now and let us be done with this tedious meeting!”

“I will not, sir. This must be delivered to all people of both Tulan Nimrais.”

The high alderman, also weary from protecting cucumbers from the old malcontent, groaned, “Can you at least tell us what this is about?”

“I can sir. I found a small trove of treasure nearby and feel it belongs to the citizens of the greater community.”

The anxious alderman grumbled, “Well, just tell us, or are you a scoundrel seeking to part us with our coppers?”

“I will not tell just you and there is considerably more than a few coppers. I kept some documents for myself but you will find money, armor, swords, farm supplies and other things stolen from these lands by trolls long ago. I would see them restored, but only if I am not vexed.

The man extolled, “See, my friends, he thinks to win our confidence with no proof of his claims!”

Nag Kath strode to the long table with the five town elders. At his height and countenance, he was intimidating indeed. Rather than thrashing the alderman, he took a nipper out of his pocket and laid it on their table saying, “There is more than this. Tomorrow night I will make the same offer on the west side of the chasm. The morning after that, those who are interested in representing your community will attend me at the lower bridge where I will reveal my intentions. 

“Good evening!”

The next day he want back to the first side and told a likelier lad in the town that he had an announcement to make that evening after dinner and that those of Tulan Nimrais who were interested in their own and their town’s betterment should listen. It was a pleasant night with little else to do so about fifty people came. Nag Kath told them the same thing, that there was a troll hoard that he had discovered and wanted to return it to the people of this valley. He gave a nipper to the Nimrais council in good faith and said he would see them tomorrow at the bridge.

____________-------____________

Twelve men and four women walked the road to the crossing and were greeted by twenty in the clearing by the bridge. A man who was already there growled, “This had better be good.” Rumblings from both contingents agreed.

Nag Kath stood on a rock where all could hear and called, “Very well. I am Nag Kath." There was more mumbling. "I found a troll cave nearby that had a worthwhile cache of gold, silver, armaments and tools. There might be more. I don’t know and I don’t care. These things were probably looted from your kin a thousand years ago. I would see you have them, but the benefits must be shared with all of the residents of Tulan Nimrais, both of them.”

A woman’s voice shouted, “What is in this for you?”

“Nothing.”

Another cried, “Then why do you do this?”

“The goodness of my heart.”

The first woman shouted again, “Is this trove nearer the west or east side of the river?”

Nag Kath answered, “The East.”

The eastern group then agreed it was theirs and the west bank had no claim.

The Elf had enough. Those things had sat there for centuries and they could sit there until the ending of the world. He hopped down and untied Eliesse from a limb. Nag Kath was two miles closer to leaving here than he had been this morning which was the only satisfaction he would get. 

A more reasonable voice called, “Then none are to benefit?”

“You don’t deserve it.”

A woman in poor cloth who had walked down the hill with her young son said to the crowd, “Then I am sorry for all. My husband did not have the time in life to provide for us. He would have helped”

In his Elf-Lord voice, Nag Kath asked, “What would it cost to rebuild that bridge?”

“About half of the throng said, “What does it matter, the east will not pay.” The other half said that of the west.

The exasperated Elf cried, “Why do you not both pay?! It is no great span.”

A very old man, who had trouble walking here and expected more going back, recalled, “Long, long ago, two brothers founded the town. They went from loving to hating each other. One lived on one side. One lived on the other. When a great storm destroyed the bridge, each thought the other owed to rebuild it. Neither of them would put a blackened copper to its restoration lest it bring them one foot closer to their fury.”

The Elf thought that if his reason for being here was to sweeten the fetid dirt that grew dark lords, he would start this morning. Slowly and softly, to kill the mutterings, he said, “Then you will have to earn it. I will pay you good wages to rebuild your bridge. Some folk may labor. Others can cook or give lodgings or do small errands. Everyone must help, according to their ability, to share in the hoard, unless you must tend your farms or care for others. Cause trouble or interfere and you get none.”

A man in the back cried, “How do we know you will pay?”

“I have given each council a quarter Florin and will replenish that at need.”

A young man in the front asked optimistically, “What wages do you pay, Mr. Kath?”

The Elf thought a moment and said, “I am not sure, but if we agree this is a worthy labor, I will decide that walking back up the hill.” To the groups, “What say you to this?”

A man off to the side of the eastern town said, “I am of our council. We will consider your offer.” A murmur among the western side became agreement.

Another man standing next to his son on the eastern side of the throng asked, “What would you have us do?”

The Elf admitted, “I have not given that enough thought either. We will start with felling and limbing trees on the western side. I will come to your town tonight and speak with the council, if they will have me.”

Nag Kath hoisted the old man on Eliesse and spoke with the western folk who mostly seemed to think this was a good idea. Of course, they were the few who came. The ones who didn’t were another matter.

Horse stabled, he sat by the old bridge footings with his sketch pad. The site was still fine for a new bridge with solid rock on both cliffs. The eastern side was a bit lower. This did not have to be elegant. Two tall, straight trees from the edge of the forest would easily span the gap, though dragging them the half mile to the river would be hard. Getting them across the chasm would be even harder. It should be hard. Folk from both sides would have to put their backs into it.

_______________-------______________

If this was a miniature version of the aqueduct, he needed similar helpers on both sides. 

The Elf requested and was granted a council meeting that evening. Tulan Nimrais was in an uproar. Some were enthusiastic. Some were enraged. Others thought it a waste of time and more than a few wondered how to get paid for not working. 

The head alder rang the bell and opened, “There is only one item for our consideration this evening. A Mr. Kath offers us a proposal that he will share in a troll hoard that only he knows on the condition that we help rebuild the bridge across the river. Would you care to explain, Mr. Kath. And I warn that he be given time to state his case. Afterwards we will discuss the merits. Mr. Kath, please proceed.”

“Thank you sir. I will pay wages for everyone who helps with this effort on both sides of the river. But I know that some have more ability and time than others. I will pay four groats a day for labor or portions thereof. Feeding and lodging others will pay the same. Children who run errands or help their parents get two. People who lend horses or mules will get four. And I will pay the going rate for everything we need to purchase.

“If my proposal is accepted on both sides of the river, I would ask that the council be the paymaster. You already have a nipper on account and I will bolster that so there is no risk that folk do not get full value for honest work. If you agree, I will have more tidings on what needs to be done.”

The head alder looked at his council and said, “Very well. Now we will ask questions and discuss this, and again, I caution all of you; these proceedings will be civil or bailiff Innagan will remove you from the hall. I will begin the questions. Mr. Kath, what is your purpose in this?”

“I would like to see the people of this region reclaim that which the trolls stole, but I want it fairly distributed and that it does not cause even greater turmoil between your divided banks. I am a bridge engineer and this is my best way of seeing that aim.”

The head alder pointed his gavel at a stout fellow squirming near the front of the room. He stood and voiced strongly, “I disapprove of your coming here and ordering us about. What right have you to disrupt our lives and business?”

The Elf said, “None, sir. If it is not the will of the council, here and across the river, I will leave you to your own devices. But my condition is that people must help however they can to share in the hoard.”

The next man chosen stood and said, “I have a farm to run with workers and family. We will not have time like some folk.”

“Then offer food and lodgings for those coming here. If you have beasts, they will be needed for hauling. Perhaps your family can lend ropes and tools. There are ways to help.”

One of the other alders asked, “Not to put too fine a point on this, Mr. Kath, but what is the value of this troll hoard?”

“Based on what I saw, perhaps thirty Florin.”

The councilman pressed, “And why did you not keep it for yourself?”

Nag Kath smiled and answered, “Because you need it more.”

They wrangled for another half-bell with the camps divided between this being an opportunity or outside interference. Head alder Cruikshor finally tapped his gavel and pronounced, “It is put to a vote. Those who favor Mr. Kath’s offer will say ‘Aye’.” About two thirds of the room spoke. “All those opposed?” That was a vocal one third.

Cruikshor looked at his fellow councilmen and said, “The motion has passed. We are concluded.”

The group filed out with smiles or scowls. Nag Kath sat holding his chin as the head alder walked up to say, “Well, you are in it now. I suppose you face the same conversation across the river.”

“If I didn’t you would have already done this yourselves. Mr. Cruikshor, you seem a reasonable man. I will need someone here with gravity who can manage things. Who comes to mind in that role?”

The man nodded as he thought and replied, “He was here tonight. I’ll will hear his mind and let you know.”

_______________-------______________

In the morning Nag Kath rode two miles downstream and two miles upstream hoping the eastern council here agreed to see him. He resolved that if one side agreed and the other didn’t, the agreeable side would get the troll cache and there would be some measure of justice. Alas; the widow and her boy were here. He was doing this for the widows and orphans of the world. 

Citizens who came to the bridge had convinced the council to have a special meeting tonight. With extra time, he wandered to the bridge footing here, a stone’s throw from where he sat the other day, and saw no impediments. It would be dangerous work. Men would need to be roped because if they fell, they would be dashed against the sides all the way to the lower bridge with no way to get out. 

The layout was different here. The valley was half again wider to the tree-line defining the farmland. They would get the job of sawing the cross-planks and rails. They would also have to erect a stout frame to put the beam-rope over so they could drag full timbers across the chasm and keep the end high enough to clear the cliff. Iron studs and brackets needed smithing. That was just to erect the bridge. Someone should paint a nice sign. A celebration dinner needed organizing. A man on the west side should marry the widow to the east since she would have already been evaluated by bachelors where she lived. 

The east council worked a little different than the west. There were the five alders he met with a town manager. The head alder was not disposed to having rich Gondorans meddling in their affairs and said as much by opening with; “Hear, hear! Everyone find your seats and come to order. We are met because Mr. Kath wants us to build a bridge against the Auram brothers’ rift. Pray, sir, state your case.”

The Elf rose and began, “Thank you and the people of Tulan Nimrais for your ears. I have …” It was the same thing he said four hundred paces away the night before. Grumblers did not wait to voice their disapproval. The head alder opened the discussion, “We will hear your thoughts and any questions you have for Mr. Kath.”

Two dozen people stood and shouted over each other until one of the counselors whistled loudly. Then the head-alder said gravely, “Mr. Reagald, you have the floor.”

Reagald fair spat, “I object most strenuously! Who is this silly man to come here and interfere in our affairs?! We don’t need a bridge and his troll claim is certainly a fraud!”

Men and a few women rose and shook their fists in agreement. The head alder calmly said, “Mr. Bellemue, I believe you have something to say.”

A portly shop owner rose to no great height and offered, “I do not see the risk. He has already left gold in pledge. My concern is that his wages are better than mine and I lose good employees to care for our customers. Mr. Kath, how long will this take?”

The Elf said, “I should think about a month if people help.”

Questions continued. It seemed the left side of the room was generally against the right side in any matter before the council and this was no different. They railed back and forth until the counsellors finally had enough with another whistle. Head alder called, “We will see a division. Those in favor of Mr. Kath’s proposal say ‘Aye’. They said so. The ‘Nay’s’ sounded about as loud. 

The head Alder announced, “Then we will see a show of hands. Bailiff, attend the counting. Those in favor raise your hand.” That came to sixty three. They nays came to fifty eight after subtracting poor Mrs. Fehland who voted each way in confusion. 

They had a deal. Like in the west, the council would see to payments. A large frame would be sunk on the cliff. More smiles and dirty looks were hurled at the tall, blonde man. The last to leave were the widow and her son. She said she would cook if people gave her the food.

The next morning, seven eastern men and three mules reported to the western town to start cutting trees. Another dozen men in the east were to fell trees on their side and start sawing eight-foot planks for the cross-boards. Those going west walked to the lower bridge and back up, most for the first time. That seemed strange because it was only four miles and a lot of these people had to be related. The Elf talked with a lad of sixteen looking forward to his first manly labor.

Easterners arrived to shy smiles and put the beasts to pasture. Two trees would have to be dragged across the land of a farmer who had strongly protested. He insisted that damages be paid for the vegetables and prize-winning pumpkins lost in this outrage. Nag Kath could have just confused the old-timer and anyone else who got in the way but wanted to use as little magic as possible for his civics lesson. He agreed to pay for men to put the ground right afterwards. 

The eastern men and a like number from this side walked up to the tree-line. The Elf chose big, straight pines and had the men drop them pointing down the hill. Then they had to be limbed, which was much more work than just cutting them down. Pine limbs make poor rollers so half the men started felling saplings about six inches across to put under the boles for dragging. They would do one tree at a time. 

Nag Kath removed his shirt, tied his hair in a ponytail and started froeing the first tree for a flat surface to stay on the rollers and for planks later on. At first all the men were working with him but after a few minutes, they were looking at his ears. He smiled and kept at it. After a hard day’s labor, east and west went into the town for the evening meal. Tables were placed in the small square and quite a few women and children brought food prepared for that evening. Someone managed a demi-cask as well.

With good light, Nag Kath walked to the chasm and looked across at the progress on the frame. It seemed to be going well. While he was standing there, Alder Cruikshor strolled down with the sort of raw-boned fellow you want in a scrap. He was introduced as Quenthorn and had been in the Arnor army twenty two years until his wife wanted to return to her parents here. The sergeant had not found steady work. He was perfect.

Nag Kath told him what had to happen on this side of the river. The man said little but didn’t miss a word. The plan was to prepare those two beams to span the gorge, anchor them on both sides and then plank it across with rail posts every six feet to keep folk from unplanned swims. Like every man in Aragorn’s army, the Arnoran had built roads and structures wherever he went. His main job would be getting the tree-trunks across a half mile of pasture. It was too bumpy with not enough grade to just roll them down. A path would have to be smoothed wide enough for the roller-logs, including through the middle of Mr. Eiche's pumpkin patch. 

As they were rising to go inside, Quenthorn asked the wind, “Kath, eh?”

The Elf looked at the tall man, "That's right.”

Quenthorn just nodded.

_________________--------________________

The Arnoran spent most of the first few days supervising the men froeing the trees. They made more froes from garden mattocks and sharpened them often. Quenthorn showed the men how to pull a taught line and mark the high-spots. Only one surface was flattened. They would have to square notches later for the guard-rail posts. 

Satisfied that was going well, Nag Kath rode to the east side to see about the planks. They had a saw pit that needed to be dug deeper. That was a miserable job so no one was to work too long or too hard. The Elf made sure the paymasters were generous too. For the first time in many of their lives, women were given cash money for taking meals to the workers. Some husbands resented the small bit of independence that bought. 

The big frame was done. It had large, forked log rounds sunk six feet into the rocky soil twelve feet back from the edge of the gorge with a stout log secured in the forks as a cross-member. Mules and men would have to pull the tree boles across the gorge and keep the leading tip high enough to clear the bank. Ropes over the beam would lift as well as pull. A post as large was anchored on the west bank. Nag Kath shot an arrow with a string attached over the span and a sturdy rope was stretched taught between them. He could have just used a bringing spell but this was to be a magic-less project. A bucket on a string to either side was handy for exchanging measurements and iron bits. Men who had never spent a night away from their sweethearts sent notes too private to shout across the raging river.

Two days later, the first tree was flattened on one side and ready to slide down the meadow. Men here had dug and filled the dirt for a smooth narrow road after fighting the ornery rocks. The risk here was that once it got going, the tree could slide too fast and make a mess below, hurting men and mules. With makeshift roller-jacks, men put the first tree in position with the flat side down and had six mules drag it over the roller logs very carefully. The road wasn’t all that smooth so the rollers got stuck more often than rolling too fast, but they managed to get it to the river in one day. Having to stop to put past rollers in front gave the mules a chance to taste the glowering Mr. Eiche’s garden. 

Quenthorn took Eliesse to the east side the following day to look at the pit saw and that the planks were sound. They only had one saw and weren’t sharpening it often enough so the one on the west side was pulled across on the rope that people were starting to call the Nimrais Ferry. 

The second tree came down two days later. Mr. Eiche’s garden was completely destroyed with men and mules dragging the trees through. Planks on the east side were progressing and they were starting to cut rails and rail posts with the scraps. At only sixty feet across, plus the ramps, Nag Kath had overestimated how many people could be employed. There were plenty of volunteers. This was really no more than a barn-raising if these querulous people would talk to each other. 

One complication was that people were paid in groats and old moneybags Kath only had higher denominations. Exchanging them should have been simple except the transactions would let others know how much cash someone had stashed in their home. One sharp fellow suggested the Elf offer silvers for only thirty-six groats and see who took the deal. They were lined out the door the next morning.

Now the hard and dangerous part started. Eastern men and mules along with some from the west went down and back to the eastern town. Three stout ropes were tied to the end of the first tree and thrown over the top of the cross bar on the frame. Two ropes were tied to a four-mule team with men helping to pull. The third rope was looped several times around the beam and constantly cinched tight against the log falling into the gorge and taking the mules with it. It was easy at first as the beam rolled with the logs falling into the water. About halfway across, the mules started taking more of the strain. Dozens of eastern townsmen were there to pull plus eight western men pushing. It was slow going but they got the tip to the edge. It was still a foot too low so one of the planks was slipped under the end and levered over a log as several of the heftier lads stood on the other end to pry it up enough for the mules to drag it five feet clear.

A huge cheer went up on both sides. One beam a day was about as much as anyone wanted to try so work ended early with with an open dinner served on both sides. They did it again the next day so both beams were in place. Men dug and filled foundations with stones under the ends to get them level with the ground and away from rotting in the soil. The next day, more western men went to to the lower bridge and back up to help bring planks in wagons now that the east had their mules back. 

Nag Kath insisted that workers laying the planks have ropes around their chests that were tied to the beams. Boards were laid across and secured with spikes. Every six feet they used a shorter plank and chiseled a flat on the beam side to attach a rail post. Smiths wrought spikes for several days and they still needed more along with augers for the starter holes. With all the lumber coming from the eastern forest; they could only be laid from that side. 

Laborers were dismissive of the ropes until the lead man turned and got a plank in the mouth. Falling eight feet took the wind out of him when the rope pulled taught but he was hauled up safely after only losing two teeth. Another man broke his arm limbing, but those were the most serious injuries on what could have been a dangerous job. It helped that Nag Kath did not push. Full-time was less than that and he had Project Manager Quenthorn give them breaks. Lots of ladies, getting paid and enjoying themselves thoroughly, brought baskets of more food than the menfolk usually ate. 

Twenty four days after the eastern men showed up with their mules, the bridge was complete. A not-so-secret celebration was planned on the eastern side since they had a larger market square but people brought food from both sides. Several folk could not bring themselves to cross the frightening river even though they watched their friends walk over unconcerned. An extra rail was hastily added when children hung from the rail-posts looking down.

The aldermen from each side sat at the same table. It happened that two of them were cousins who had never met. Dinner was too much and a few casks of ale held in reserve by agents of the blonde Elf were tapped. Leaders made speeches. Young people were bashful. A generally good time was had by about three quarters of the combined citizens. The other quarter sulked. This was not how it was to be! Who knew who those easterners/westerners were? Once Eiche was paid in full for his garden, he seemed rather pleased. But then, he was fond of ale.

It was time for one more speech. Nag Kath stood on a table to be heard by about four hundred people and said, “Thank you for your cares. Who here thinks we have done good work?”

That got raucous cheers and hoots of approval.

“Now it is time for me to deliver on my other promise. We have a little more work to make this bridge safe, but two days hence I will need a party of six riders and a wagon from the west to ride over the bridge at first light and join a like number from the east. Then I will take you to the trove.

“Drink-up and enjoy yourselves! You have earned it.”

_________________------_______________

Maids milked the cows the next day but no one else was up bright and early. It was a Hobbit-like party with Hobbit-like results. Some of the western folk straggled back after breakfast time with straw in their hair. Quenthorn could hold his liquor and met Nag Kath at the bridge to discuss graveling the wagon ramps for less of a jolt. They sat in the grass alongside and looked at the work. There would be no Dunlending statue but the Elf was proud. East and west still had to find their way. They were closer.

Sure enough, the next morning half a dozen riders, some of whom looked like they hadn’t been on their horse in years, clopped across the bridge with a one-mule wagon. They met their new neighbors with their own cart and all rode past the lower bridge. Turning up the main flow was unusual for them. No one lived up there and those who had ever left either Tulan Nimrais had only turned downstream to the Morthond. With the mule wagons it took two hours until they had to travel on foot. Two of the more ‘experienced’ riders stayed with the horses and wagons.

Step by step, Nag Kath took them around the back of the slide and along the broken trail into the cave. They brought torches to show money and swords and poked around for things he didn’t see the first time. There weren’t any hidden doors. This was a Dwarf mine at one point but they hadn’t dug very deep.

One man found a silver Elvish box with nothing in it. East and west agreed that the heavier implements could stay here if anyone wanted to drag them home later and hauled the money, armor and swords to carry back to the wagons. Items were divvied evenly and they were home by dark. Altogether, the cash came to twenty-three Florin. Nag Kath spent nearly three of his. The swords and armor weren’t worth much but they had belonged to fighters back in the day when that mattered. The Elf’s original proposition was for those who worked to share but that was only ever fifty people at a time. A better outcome was that each Tulan Nimrais, in the new spirit of friendship, agreed to share the spoils widely and hold some in reserve for other neglected civic projects. 

Quenthorn hadn’t been among the salvagers. He sat with the Elf in their grassy spot as the sun set behind them and looked at the spray rising from the rapids. The soldier had proven himself a capable man. His prospects were good. Nag Kath gave him a nipper for services rendered; the making of a man if he applied it well. 

As Nag Kath rose to find his room, the quiet Arnoran said, “New troopers get burial detail. Bones all look the same. I am glad they weren’t yours.”

Nag Kath smiled as he nodded and walked back into town.


	7. Back and Forth

**_Chapter 7_ **

**_Back and Forth_ **

Caladrion said warmly “Welcome back, Nag. Did you have great adventures?”

“Chasing ghosts.”

Cal took that figuratively. Then he reported, “Our family is fine. Prince Dalrothil died a month after you left. Prince Armandor has taken the office.”

Nag Kath wondered a moment, “Haven’t met since he was a tyke. Met his brother after the fevers.”

“Are you back for a while?”

“Between here and Gondor. Dol Amroth is fair, but I find it hard to stay anywhere very long at leisure.”

Caladrion knew he meant at leisure without a woman. Nag Kath could stand idleness in the company of a lady love. With Phylless he had been here three and four years at a stretch. Cal had the best of lady loves and missed her every day. The old friends had more in common than appeared. The retired counselor wasn’t alone often with so many offspring and managed the gaps with grace. 

They were sitting on Caladrion’s porch watching the last rays of the sun on the harbor. A large ship was docking. The fishing boats were long in. Cal took a sip of the cool tea and asked, “Seriously, what did you do upriver?”

“I helped a town rebuild a bridge and I freed the remaining army of the dead in Erech ... something like seventy of them. Hopefully that was the last of the One Ring.”

Cal looked at the Elf and grinned, “Well, I did ask.” 

Nag Kath added, “We might keep that between us. Your great grandchildren hardly speak to me after the healing.” He smiled, “I think this is a place where I should be ordinary.”

Cal agreed, “Yes, good old Dol Amroth. It does change from time to time. The Princely family spends more time at their estates. We are fair crowded with Lords here in port.”

“Gondor is not used to that. There was no King for, what, nine hundred years? Then there was one King for over a century with only one heir who has one son. Dale was short on heirs for a while too. They have enough now, same with Rohan. But this place is three and four sons deep going back before me. They are marrying rich merchant’s daughters.”

Caladrion smiled to say, “Lord Kolland’s second boy did rather well.”

“Kolland?”

“Princess Inariel.”

“I know the older children better.”

Five months away made Uncle Nag more palatable with the younger relatives. There were always babies to burp and sing to. He did what he usually did and now had a new pile of papers he didn’t understand. These seemed less Elvish than usual with strings of characters five and six lines long. Elvish languages changed constantly as empires came and went, maybe a local dialect? None of the scholars he contacted knew what they were. Perhaps the keepers would.

Year 123 of the Fourth Age started badly. Field Ivandred, son of Cal and Eniecia, had a heart seizure. He was more Northman than Dúnedain and at age 83, that was a long run. The man lingered two months and was alert in that time but a second event stole him in his sleep.

Cal took it very hard. He could understand outliving his lovely wife but not his son, feeling guilty that he could not have passed his father’s long life to his children. Callistra was 81 and still strong. She comforted her da. Nag Kath just had to be there. He was the formost example of outliving the loved. They didn’t even have to speak.

Field’s wife Grenda was already failing. Field had been glad that he would be there to support her until his heart let them both down. Raniece and Borond took her mother into the large home inherited from Nag Kath. The woman kept trying to walk into rooms that weren’t there or talking to Field as if he was sitting next to her. She knew she knew Nag Kath, but was not sure why. 

Having money helped. The Conaths were already comfortable when Nag Kath gave a great sum to Reyald and Ardatha. Those properties had grown in value by the time Eniecia and Shurran came into their legacies. The families inherited Nag Kath’s estate when he was declared eaten by wargs. He didn’t care since he still had cash, his curious trust and a handful of Dwarf/Elf diamonds. Raniece used some to expand the house with separate quarters for her mother’s long-time maid and another caring companion. When Grenda wanted company, family was there. When she needed quiet, help was waiting. 

The Ivandreds were not among the wealthiest fifty families in the closed world of Dol Amroth, but they were close. With the diversity of their holdings, much of which was still in the White City, they were virtually immune to the slow erosion of Dol Amroth as a major trading port. The "rock" was a Navy town when the world enjoyed the Peace of the King. That was why Princely heirs took their inland holdings much more seriously in the second century.

Cal visited his daughter-in-law almost every day. At times she was her usual self and at other times in a world of the past. Nag Kath would come along too and retell his fanciful adventures. Others in the family would join them and sometimes have dinner after the old lady retired. A whole new generation of Ivandreds got to wonder who Uncle Nag was. 

That was clarified slightly. Siorscia, Menalgir and Halita’s daughter, had a difficult labor when the baby breached. Called in with the emergency, the Elf was able to turn the child in the womb with a bringing spell for a normal birth. Halita, who was traumatized when Sorcia had a stomach blockage as an infant, saw the Elf use the same silver aura over the same belly for another successful outcome. Nag Kath had done the procedure many years ago for a woman with a fever who went into labor. Babies and infants are much more open to magic and it was an easy, safe spell. They named the little girl Heiri. 

Talienne wrote Raniece before she left for Rohan with Barahir. When they returned they would try to visit. That was not easy. Barahir inherited both the title of Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, but not of the Reunited Kingdom. Arnor had its own Steward. When Eldarion was in Annúminas, Barahir stayed in Minas Tirith. 

The principality was created for Faramir when Steward was the larger task. By the second century that was reversed. Ithilien was a powerful fief with Osgiliath again the largest city in the world. A movement was afoot to make it the capital of Gondor again after Sauron’s rise forced administration to the citadel of Minas Tirith. The Steward position was an anachronism now that the King was a grandfather. Old habits die hard. There was an understanding among the royals that Barahir’s son Tyaldran would decline the honor. 

____________------____________

Winter became spring. There were no water-fevers on the Sirith. The red Odar were running near the rocks. With Cal himself again, Nag Kath thought it was time to see Minas Tirith. Part of the reason for coming was that Eldarion was on his every-other-year trip to Annúminas which would put Barahir and Talienne in the palace. It would be good to give her family news of Dol Amroth and see the Conath brood. 

Now in the strong melt season on the Great River, He rode Eliesse across Belfalas on the lower route through the red-wine counties to the Serni river-mouth city of Linhir. It was an actual city and growing thanks to its proximity to the Ethir Anduin. Nag Kath took his leisure for a few days and then rode the royal highway to Pelargir. From there it was the familiar road to the White City.

Rey and Heuris were their usual selves and glad to see the Elf. He stayed with them until the lease on his house was up the next month with plans to move in after buying it back from them for five groats. Barahir and Talienne were already here. They met often and included the Conath clan. After isolation in Emyn Arnen, the Prince and Princess enjoyed entertaining in the capital. Their younger daughter Ivriniel and her new husband Kinnestrath were with them.

After their second dinner when the other family retired, Nag Kath told the couple, “Last year I went to Erech. There were reports that spirits in the mountain were restless. About seventy of the cursed were trapped in the caverns and I was able to free them. I could not be sure that King Elessar’s forgiveness applied, but I took the liberty. I will tell King Eldarion when he is back. For now, only we and Caladrion know.”

Barahir held his chin in Princely fashion and agreed, “Yes, people of today cannot imagine those things. It is one thing to recite old stories. It is another to live in that world. That is the last of Sauron?”

“One cannot be sure, but I think it is the last of Isuldur. He was a powerful sorcerer with the ring.”

Barahir lamented, “He did not write much but his notes during the short reign were disordered compared to the before the Last Alliance. It was surely for the better that he did not possess the ring long. It would have returned to its master just the same.”

Uncle Nag teased, “Beetling through the archives are we?”

The Prince smiled, “I have them brought here. They are mostly astrology.”

Talienne contributed, “I look too. The scholars do not like papers leaving their catacombs, but if the Steward wants them, the Steward gets them.”

The Elf floated, “Have you done anything further on romantic history?”

Barahir shook his head, “Not much. I have these other jobs that interfere. I think that story will write itself when the time is ripe.”

Nag Kath said, “I did not tell you, but I spoke to the head Elf-keeper in Lorien. He was alive when Lúthien and Beren were but never met them. The Keepers mainly go where Elves have been, not where they are. Doriath was where Mirkwood is now but all of the mountains and rivers are different. When the Valar fight, the battlefield suffers. Master Logass would not say if his kind were there. I doubt there is anything left to remember.”

Talienne was sad she could not visit her mother. Nag Kath offered to take her. She would need an Ithilien escort because of her rank but that seemed the only way now. Her sister wrote often, with assured delivery by royal messengers. It was not the same as being there to honor her dear father. 

On the first of June, Nag Kath took possession of his old home and started the project of making it his own. The two upper floors were in fair condition but needed minor work and furnishings. The first-floor storage was mostly discarded or given to the needy. He left the gold and circlet where they were but collected the diamonds resting on one of the ceiling timbers. 

Fieldar Conath, who was becoming a better friend, had handled everything in Minas Tirith for a decade. It was a gentleman’s position with paid staff in the office but he did watch the books. At thirty-nine, he shot with the Pelennor Third infantry and could still peg a demi-cask at forty paces along with his friends the Men of the Tower. His son Brandar and cousin Urandict were good shots too, keeping that line of heroes intact.

Through the Kathen office, builders were engaged for renovations and folk who furnished the properties did the same. A new feather bed was the hardest thing to locate. It took two months but when the list was done, Nag Kath had strong tea on his porch and imagined the past Syndolan parties as if they were the night before. Every generation likes to think they have it better than the ones that come after, unless complaining how good youngsters have it now. Well into his sixth generation of adopted family, they were blending together. 

His first official dinner using two women hired for the night was entertaining Lorandis and Urandict’s families. They always marveled at Uncle Nag’s pictures. Their young children had no idea that the tall man was any sort of relative. They knew their relatives. Eyes and ears were rapt with the pictures and hearing about the great kings of their past. 

During renovations, Nag Kath visited the Osgiliath office of Kathen. It was now Ilvest & Kathen owing to a joining of firms by marriage. The Elf was more a favored customer than founder with the same generous terms he always gave. They were nice folks and honest too. Rents were sent through the Royal Bank across the river like always. 

It was also time for a visit to said bank. He left a supply of diamonds in the vault which Hellistar Jewelers could claim by paying a set price. When he was frozen in Angmar, those diamonds were slowly exhausted until old man Hellistar retired in comfort. Fieldar told him quietly that the man running that business now was not trustworthy so Nag Kath visited a jeweler Fieldar recommended and found the owner liked the idea of an exclusive supply of rare stones in his inventory. Gregith and Gregith would get rough diamonds and have to prepare them since there were now more of those than the stones the Dwarves had finished long before. Pricing was based on what they found once irreversible work was done.

In militia training Nag Kath taught in all four weekly sessions, sometimes on horse and sometimes with the bow alongside Fieldar, Urandict and Brandar. They knew better than to bet against him but kept their mouths shut when others in the Third Pelennor got cocky. The Elf also held a slow-swords class for all comers. Eliesse went into season again so he had her bred to a stallion one of the Lossarnach agents in the city suggested and rode Orlon throughout.

______________------______________

In November the King and Queen returned with all their children. Eldarion was eighty and looked forty. The pure blood of a Dúnedain father and immortal blood of Arwen might keep him alive as long as kings of yore. Millicend, who stayed here, also aged slowly but seemed more like a regular woman. She was healthy with a personality that being near her made one feel better. The younger girl was said youthful too, but had a history of fevers.

Nag Kath was welcomed by Eldarion with another round of dinners and greetings. The King agreed the dead army was a Nag-Kath fable that should remain buried. Eldarion was quite interested in Lamedon, though. He had only been there once thirty years ago. It was a large portion of his realm to get so little attention. He said he would rebuild the bridge.

With a week of transition, the Steward handed the reins of government back to his sovereign and returned to Emyn Arnen with the in-law Elf alongside. The older children had done a fine job of maintaining the Principality although Tyaldran had a split lip from the same sort of errant militiamen his da trained at the same age. 

It wasn’t until then that Barahir explained he had resigned his Stewardship. Crown Prince Elhidron was thirty eight and his son was fourteen. The realm was in good hands. Elhidron discussed it with uncle Barahir and they agreed the younger man was ready for that role if his father agreed. His father did and the documents were signed with an announcement to follow.

Barahir’s time was now his own. He and Talienne would visit Dol Amroth next year. In addition to honoring her father, there were ties that bound in Imrahil’s family. Ithilien bordered the east side of the Anduin all the way to the Poros with a vast economic stake in the river trade. 

For the first time in twenty-five years, Nag Kath took his leisure in Emyn Arnen. He read in the library, got to know his little great, great, great, greats who ranged from two to seven and looked just like their dark-haired mother Deriandrie. In keeping with family tradition, little Arathorn had groats in his ears.

After a few weeks at home, Nag Kath, Barahir and two guards rode to Emyn Vierald for a look at the former Elven haven. It was full of folk farming and raising more folk. The mayor insisted on a grand banquet of the fine foods raised there. They were too late for the strange dividing fruit Nag Kath brought back. The seeds would not grow anywhere else. Nag Kath explained their origins to tepid interest.

Unshared with anyone else, the two scholars wanted to see if there were any Elf-keepers. There weren’t. Legolas’ followers were not here long and were not stewards of Elvish spirit to be preserved. It was still a pleasant three day ride to part of the Prince’s domain and fully justified. The Elf grinned walking by Barahir's home of the Elves in joining. They stayed for three days including a ride to the River Telengaur. It tested clean. Farms stretched all the way from the community past the river now.

Nag Kath stayed another week with the Princes and then spent a while in Osgiliath. He wanted to get a few herbs and a better sense of the growing city on both sides. Jeffer Ilvest, Tumfred’s grandson-in-law, gave the silent partner a tour of the properties in the right-living trust. These were the last rental properties the Elf owned, but quite a bit since it had never been reduced by gifts or dying. Unlike in Minas Tirith or Dale, these were mostly large, commercial buildings on long-term leases. It took a lot of work to make them ready but not much after that.

He stayed in the Great River, one of his favorite places to loaf, and watched people go by. This was definitely the art and culture capital of Gondor now with more sculptors and painters than across the river. Eight years earlier, the city fathers began an Autumn Festival for art and music that drew large crowds. It was a grand enough affair that a traveling Catanard company of Dol Amroth highlighted the week. Nag Kath was too late for this one but promised himself he would visit for fresh ideas. He saw several galleries and an exhibition with good pieces, buying two small bronzes to be sent to his home. 

If he was going to be in the White City, he would live like it. A hasty Syndolan party was organized. There would be no Hobbits and only one Dwarf but there were enough family and friends of family to spread the word. Delandreth’s daughter Maiarne was named as Neurae for the evening. Nag Kath hired a permanent daytime cook/cleaner named Thorowyn and she hired a friend to make finger-foods for an uncertain number of guests. Alas, fireworks had gone out of style. Aragorn shot the last of his powders into the Mordor sky to bring Nag Kath out of the east with the one survivor used to signal the Prince’s troops around the claw of Angmar. The Elf thought he remembered the formula from the man Aragorn hired, but it was a revolting process.

He got quite a throng between family, militia friends of family and some of Fieldar’s business associates. Wine and ale were available. Of the perfunctory royal invitations, Princess Millicend came with her daughter Anthrala and her husband Nendalron accompanied a discreet big fellow who smiled and watched. Nag Kath met them both during the Steward’s visit. They seemed a nice young couple and knew a few people there.

If any of the women conspired to match the bachelor Elf with themselves or other eligible ladies, no one told him. A lot of lordly romances had been finagled at this very party over the years. As always, he sat on the porch bench and looked at Osgiliath the way he had with Tal. For a moment he imagined Phylless making sure everyone had what they needed. 

________________------______________

Year 124 started wet, not enough to flood Osgiliath but it was said the coast got a lot of rain. When he could he rode both horses. Lorandis’ fourteen year-old son Simliar got the job of keeping them fit. Before long, Eliesse would need a maternity stable. Nag Kath found a farm just north of the leach-fields to care for her and a foal due in July or August. Simliar would ride Orlon there to ride her so all three stayed in trim. When she got too heavy, he would just bring carrots to remind her of home. 

Spring was nice. He painted and went to East Osgiliath for more of the little bronzes. Any statue in the White City was still someone royal. Across the river were nymphs and bears and otters. He got one that was supposed to be a gnome because it reminded him of Elf-keeper Fencïl. 

In May there was bad news that Lord Dorthans Kolland, husband to the Princess Inariel, died of a bog fever he caught hunting near his estate in central Belfalas. The man made it home and seemed to be rallying until fading away. He was only 43, of princely, Dúnedain stock, but fevers do not discriminate. The couple lived at the estate most of the time, occasionally in Dol Amroth or on the horse farm in Lossarnach. Funeral plans hastened Barahir and Talienne's belated visit with Uncle Nag tagging along. They would arrive just before the Catanard season that meant so much long ago.

This was a formal state visit. After the retinue disembarked with guards and fanfare, the couple, daughter Ivriniel and her husband were whisked off to the palace. Nag Kath slipped quietly to Cal’s house carrying his own bag. His house was right next door but Cal had the key so they had a long talk with tea. 

Life was good here. Grenda came and went as she had. She was not unhappy. Raniece and Callistra’s families visited often. Derissa’s daughter Lenvisar was said to be serious about a young fellow who bucked his family's tradition and would commission with the army. Uncle Nag promised not to be too much of a nuisance. Cal smiled and said, “Oh, we got four more tickets five rows behind ours for the season. Old Thomfors stopped coming years ago. He had a spat with his son-in-law and wouldn’t you know; he let Menalgir take the subscription. Feathers were ruffled, let me assure you.”

Nag Kath matched him grin for grin, something they had done for almost a hundred years, “I hope they are all comedies.”

“No such luck. To be a Catanaräe you have to take the rough with the smooth. I think the tragedies this year are the ‘The Price’ and ‘Too Long Without’. They aren’t especially long. Your wizard opera is fourth.”

That was when he let Mina go. He would have loved to be in love all this time. Her first grand-daughter was born in May. As the comic wizard learned, one can never see the future, but as things played, Mina would have lost him without hope in the caves of Angmar. It was hard to imagine straggling back after twenty years and starting fresh. Two Elves might have managed.

“Alas, I left Radagast’s staff tip in Minas Tirith or else we could liven-up the performance!”

Cal shook his head and had more tea.

___________-------___________

With Kolland's funeral, Nag Kath did not expect to see the Princely couple until Field’s memorial. It was scheduled ten days after their arrival to let the families attend to business of the fief. Talienne did visit Raniece and her mother without the Prince the day after they arrived. Grenda recognized her, but thought it was thirty years ago. They talked about then.

There was an unrelated formal event in the citadel a week later. Cal and Nag Kath were invited as Lords of Galador along with Raniece and Borond as sister to the visiting nobles. Cal needed a man-cart but he was dressed in his best; tall and straight. The guests were more seasoned than Nag Kath remembered. There were the same old buffers but now their sons were bald too. Cal enjoyed seeing folk who did not get around as far as the other side of Dol Amroth. Unusually, quite a few people remembered Nag Kath’s name from the healing a few years back. While Cal was talking with a man only slightly younger about their days in government, Talienne walked over to her uncle and asked, “Where are all the young people?”

“I wondered that myself. Your family could have been pressed into service. They have youngsters by the basket.”

Prince Armandor and his wife strolled by and Talienne said, “My Lord and Lady, may I present my uncle Nag Kath?”

All bowed and the man said, “Glad you could come.” Wife Antolia said the exact same phrase. They had probably used it all night. 

Nag Kath said, “Thank you for inviting me, Your Highnesses.”

Both smiled and kept walking.

The Elf said, “Have you seen your grand-da”

Talienne was looking across the room and said, “Not tonight, but I saw him at mother’s. Did he tell you about the Catanard?”

“Vaguely.”

“Then we will see you there too. I like that you are close to Cal.”

“He is my oldest friend, going on a hundred years. You never met my wife Phylless. We lived here about half the time for forty years and were very close with Caladrion and Eniecia. Sometimes we can think something without needing to say it.”

She said softly, “I have heard all the stories, at least, all the ones ever told. Take care of him for me. I have to rescue my husband or the man from Lebennin will talk his ear off.” She kissed his cheek, “See you at the show.”

Queen Nepthat was off. Nag Kath wandered over to get a glass of wine and noticed a gentleman who brought wagons of food to the healing warehouse. He walked up and declared, “Mr. Uphaunt, how good it is to see you!”

“And you, Lord Kath. I am glad this is not about high-water upstream.”

The changeling sighed, “I have had quite enough of that, thank you. Forgive my lack of heraldry. Are you some sort of Lord?”

Uphaunt smiled, “Not even close, but my wife is a Lady of Amroth on her mother’s side so they let me in for the wine.”

“I can’t keep track.”

The fellow seemed pleased, “You have to live it night and day. Just a moment.” Uphaunt turned slightly and said to a senior walking by, “Your pardon, Lord Kolland. My deepest condolences. This is my friend Lord Kath.”

The Lord stopped for a moment seeming to recognize the name but bowed and kept going. Uphaunt said, “I didn’t say how we met because his son died of a fever this spring. Nice fellow. Bloody poxes! Well, I should attend my lady wife. I will find her by the finger-cakes.”

Nag Kath looked over to the old soldiers and saw Cal was wearing down. He collected his friend and took him outside to whistle-up his man-cart. The Elf walked alongside and settled Cal inside his home before going next door to drink cold tea and watch the crescent moon. 

Over the summer he went to two shows. Barahir and Talienne left after a month and Uncle Nag stayed behind. They were to write as soon as they heard about Eliesse’s foal. He would have three horses. Towards the end of the summer, Cal caught a bad cold that settled in his lungs. Most people his age would have died but having a wizard on site got him through. The Elf’s healing got progressively stronger. He could draw more illness and dissipate it faster than before. Nag Kath never forgot old Mrs. Skilleth saying it was nothing to his kind. Recuperation might be nothing, but having saved a life always mattered.

______________------_____________

Nag Kath spent the rest of the year in Dol Amroth and sailed to Minas Tirith in January. He wanted to be near family so he divided time between the sea, the White City and Emyn Arnen. The foal was a filly that would stay with her mother until next fall at least. The farmer who kept mother and daughter could start her on halter-breaking when she was ready. Orlon was getting his exercise from town. Nephew Simliar loved riding but was two generations from owning a horse in the family. 

The Elf busied himself with horses, seeing friends, painting and paying the sculptor in Osgiliath to show him how to cast bronzes. He had seen bells made but not something graceful. Talienne’s brood was doing well with young Lord Tyaldran taking on more duties. Barahir, like his father, believed in not letting young people be idle as their parents aged. The heir was thirty-three and a better rider than his da. Middle-earth still needed good soldiers.

In the autumn Nag Kath got his old job back of teaching children the bow with blunted arrows while their fathers trained. Slow-swords was popular again. One fifth-level trainee fancied himself a swordsman without peer. He found otherwise. On the last day of 125 the changeling had another Syndolan party with most of the same people and the same results. Millicend came again with her family. She really enjoyed getting out of the seventh and spoke with many of the guests like an old friend. That was his only encounter with royalty that year. 

Year 126 of the Fourth age started with Nag Kath returning to Dol Amroth. The family would have to share him. Cal was getting older very slowly and still enjoyed their walks at the wharf. His daughter Callistra, with less Dúnedain blood, was in her eighties and seemed as elderly.

Fieldar’s widow Grenda was very frail. Her mind was disordered and her blood flowed poorly. She would not let the blonde stranger examine her and no one saw the need to insist. Just before the opera season, she became quite lucid and remembered things as they were. The next day, she was gone. Folk had said their goodbyes for three years. Talienne did not plan to come down. Now that Raniece wasn’t a nurse, she could visit Emyn Arnen with Borond and take a long rest. The Libron great grandchildren were old enough to enjoy the curious Uncle Nag’s stories and ask questions about dragons. Heirs of Dale knew their dragons.

Nag Kath caught three of the Catanards that season. He enjoyed the company afterwards as well. Twice, a very attractive woman was three rows behind them and he could feel her eyes on his back. She had wine at the Lion the second time. It was up to him. He smiled and walked next to Cal’s man-cart going home.

Towards winter, he was back again up the river. That was the best time to travel. Simliar had taken good care of the horses. With his parents’ permission, Nag Kath gave him the filly the lad named Windborne. It was the best day of his life. By the time he was old enough to train as a lancer, she would be ready.

He got home too late to plan a Syndolan party. As it happened, Delandreth and her husband had one, a tradition they would carry-on for all their long marriage. Hastor was a man of Rohan, so, basically a red-headed Northman. His father was a rider of the Mark and moved here when a pox killed half of their horses. The man’s wife had a cousin in the White City who offered him work so they brought their young children and made a new life. Hastor apprenticed making fine saddles and eventually opened his own shop on the second. Nag Kath had only met him once but after the second introduction, they talked half the night about all things Rohan with a healthy dollop of Dale for good measure. Eliesse needed a better saddle so the deal was struck for when she returned from the farm. Everyone had a good time and the Elf made a note to get them some Hobbits next year.

The winter was nothing special. The Anduin would not flood in spring. It was still cold so Nag Kath unearthed his two strange language papers and went to the archives to try his luck again. He made a little headway. A scholar named Vorondies, forty years before the war, wrote a series of laborious papers on the Black Speech that was filed in the wrong category. His thesis was that the Black Speech was just one more permutation of Elvish and that Sauron had adapted it for the thick heads of his servants.

There were few written examples. Nag Kath’s Uruk-hai used a more complex tongue than the Mordor orcs but neither could read, though they used a shorthand of symbols. None of these matched what he remembered of the pod pit markings. Perhaps this Vorondies had access to a captured orc. It would have been utter nonsense, but half of the letters he used were the same as the Yvsuldor sheets found in Nûrad. Since orc messengers were no help in a land of bright sun, those men would have had to write things down in the only language they knew.

The next day, Nag Kath brought what he copied from the Red Book where Frodo etched the writing on the ring. It was incomplete. The Hobbit could not speak or read it but he copied it superbly, an elegant inscription for an ugly tongue. It had the same letter shapes but was art more than writing. The Elf wrote out a simple sentence in Quenya and compared the black sounds. It was gibberish too. Gandalf kept or destroyed Isuldur's notes. It made sense that Sauron would adapt an existing language. He arrived relatively late in the dark lord business and was notoriously cheap. Melkor had the imagination to make a wholly new tongue, but not his handman. The Elf still copied the written forms from the old scholar, getting that much closer to what it meant. He made no progress on the troll cache.

_______________-------______________

A letter from Raniece in July said Cal was having trouble with his wind again. There was nothing keeping the changeling here so he loaded Eliesse and her brand new saddle on a ferry and made for Dol Amroth. With not much headwind, he was there in eighteen days. Walking up from the wharf he spotted Cal sitting on the porch with Callistra drinking tea and fit as a fiddle. Yes, he had a cough two months ago, but some of good ol’ Nag’s herbs put him right!

Nag Kath couldn’t be cross that the man he came to save or mourn willingly drank the Elf's rank cough mixture. “Well, good for you! I don’t suppose there is any music?”

“Too late for Catanard. There is another harp recital left. Alas, one of the lead dancers in the Kohru left her husband and moved back to Pelargir. They are auditioning new girls now but the season is a shambles.”

Nag Kath asked, “Are there any new babies?”

Granna Callistra said, “Nope. And the ones on the ground are getting sassy. You don’t want any part of minding them.”

Ever helpful, Cal offered, “See here, say hello to everyone and go catch some fish. Word from the south coast is that the yellow Odar are in the rocks off Nargond, doesn’t happen often so close to shore. The way you ride, you’ll be there in three days. Come back relaxed and ready for a three-act tragedy!”

___________-------___________

Nag Kath took Cal up on his suggestion. After a night of dinner and yarns, he retrieved his deep-water fishing tackle and eased Eliesse down the coast towards Ráma. It was a graded road with an inn just before the bridge over a river from Rosuldrië. 

Inns along the route dealt with the higher-end of tourists from Dol Amroth. They were expensive and worth it. He was under-dressed for the second inn he made in South Ráma on a larger river near an old fortress dating before the current line of Princes. In the land of fish, dinner was roast lamb. The wine was good from vineyards further up the same river. 

From there, Nag Kath took his time. In Dol Amroth there were few places to get near the sea along the rocks. Sheer cliffs descended into the surf with the barest of footpaths hugging the slope. Here were the same sort of rocks into the water but high-tide was only ten or fifteen feet down. Rather than be served more lamb, the Elf made camp along the road and ate one of the tillars he caught just off the shore. That gave him plenty of time to make the inn Cal recommended just after lunch.

Nargond is the largest town and capital of the county of Nargond. It is also the name of the river coming from the passes in the county of Dudhrandir. Cal’s inn was the Dor-en-Ernil, an old, princely name from when that line was established. They weren’t serving lamb. Nag Kath took a nice room overlooking the sea and went out to stretch his legs before eating whatever wasn’t lamb. 

The town itself followed the river back several miles. The coastal counties had rocky soil near the sea but a mile or two on either side of the Nargond was prized fertile loam. Farmers had harvested the orchards and were starting on the wheat. Like a lot of country roads, a woman well up in years was sitting under a parasol with several baskets of fresh-picked fruit and vegetables. The Elf wandered over to hear, “Good timing, young man. These peaches are just off the tree at a groat each.” 

He could have them four a groat but Nag Kath hated haggling. "Splendid. I’ll take two,” and gave her a fiver, waving his hand when she made change. 

The woman gave him a long second look as she put the fruit in a string bag, “Wait a minute, I know you! You cured my fever a few years back.”

The Elf replied, “Good. I am glad you are well. Do you live here?”

“My whole life. Was in Amroth to see my sister. Never going back. Pestilential places; cities!” Nag Kath couldn’t agree more and ate one of the peaches on the way to the inn. 

He hadn’t even gotten to the pit when he heard two men accosting another who was holding a mule by his lead just off the road. Elf ears being what they are, he heard quite a bit of it, starting with; “We told you to pay by today or we take the beast. You have had long enough with grace to spare.”

The owner of the mule, an older fellow much worn by life’s unfairness, protested, “I haven’t got it. Beetles ate the squash and I had none to sell.”

The other of the two was stern, “Don’t matter to us. We loaned you those coppers and you agreed to pay it back with modest interest. When we called last month, you said the same thing. That mule is ours now.”

“Can you not give me another month before the grain is in?”

The first man said, “No. A deal is a deal and we have been more than reasonable.”

Nag Kath walked over. A tall, well-dressed man, he got noticed. He was a Knight of Galador twice, for what that was worth. “What is the trouble here?”

One of the two lenders said, “This toad promised to pay us back money he borrowed to plant his crops. Now that it is harvest time, he does not pay.”

“It is not my fault! The bugs ate my garden!”

The second lender cried, “We did not lend the money to the bugs! Not that this is any of your business, mister, but we are here to claim this animal as payment.”

The hard-used man wailed, “He is worth much more than your miserable two silvers, a fine worker in his prime!”

The first man said practically, “Then sell him for more and give us the two silvers and ten groats for the use of our hard-earned money.”

As misery piled on misery, the poor farmer bemoaned, “Then how will I bring in my crop?”

The second man, who looked a lot like the first, said firmly, “Again, you find ways not to pay. Hand me the mule now and be glad we don’t take more.”

The busybody butted-in again, “Wait here, there must be some resolution. You, sir, what is this mule worth?”

The farmer said piteously, “Every groat of four silvers.”

The second fellow scoffed, “Nonsense. One at most.”

“Three, and I will starve in the bargain!”

Nag Kath said, “I will handle this. You, sir, I will buy this mule for three silvers.” He placed three coins in the farmer’s palm and took the animal’s halter lead. Then he said, “Now, you pay these fellows two of those.”

Try as he may, the farmer could not think of a way to back out. He dropped two coins into an outstretched palm. Nag Kath continued, recalling his exemplary wisdom in building the bridge, “Now, you two be on your way and think twice to whom you lend next time.”

Two silvers was a lot better than they thought they would see so they abandoned their interest payments and were down the road towards the mountains. Nag Kath concluded, “Now sir, you give me the remaining silver for this mule," intending to give him the silver back after the old boy showed good faith.

The farmer grew a beaming smile and chortled, “I can buy a lot more ale with this dented king than I can with him. Congratulations friend, you just bought yourself a three silver mule!” Then he ambled the same direction as the lenders.

It served him right for being the knight-errant with arguing yokels. He gave the mule the second peach and declared, “From now on, your name is A’mash.”


	8. The Lady of Alas Forten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This could be the start of another book since our hero's life sees dramatic changes. sh

**_Chapter 8_ **

**_The Lady of Alas Forten_ **

Yellow Odar, smallest of the three, are the hardest to catch. Some folk claim they are smart. Some say it takes practice or patience. On his first full day there, Nag Kath actually managed to land a youngster. He threw it back and tried again.

In the morning, all hope of fishing swam away. The produce lady told her community of the healer. Two farmers were waiting in the lobby when he came downstairs for porridge and cream on peaches. One was a lass there on behalf of a neighbor-woman who had broken her leg a month back and hurt it again. Could the good doctor tend it for her? The second fellow represented the ailments of poor Mr. Cuumbs. The farmer had fallen and had the tremors something fierce! Could the gentleman come and save his life?

It turned out he could. First came the farmer with palsy. The old boy had not been drinking and his hands were still shaking uncontrollably. Nag Kath had seen this before and told him, “Close your eyes.” Mr. Cuumbs did and received a gentling spell borrowed from the Elves into his back. It seemed to work right away. The good doctor cautioned, “Stay away from the ale. I’ll look in on you in a week.

Farmer Cuumbs fretted, “Sir, I do not have much to pay you. Will this be expensive?”

“No charge sir. You take care of yourself and I will see you anon.”

The next patient was not so gentle. Mrs. Londreg buried her fool of a husband twenty years ago. The girl who fetched the Elf would not get any closer to the house than the front steps. He knocked on the door and walked in to hear, “Who are you?”

“I am the doctor.”

A knife dropped on the floor. The woman rasped, “Broke my leg, hurts something awful.”

With gentle bedside manner Nag Kath said, “I am going to pull these curtains open for a better look.” He did, revealing a feisty old woman smoking a leaf-pipe. She stared him up and down before hiking up her skirt to reveal an angry bruise about the middle of her shin. He felt it gently and applied a silver bone-knitting spell. She winced but did not jerk. The Elf rose and asked, “Who’s the girl?”

“Neighbor, not too bright.”

He walked out where the lass was waiting and told her, “Child, I need you get me some large rush stalks and a length of linen. Off you go.” Then he sat on the stoop and waited half a bell until she ran back with supplies. The physician gave her a fiver and said she could go home. Walking inside he asked, “Have you got a long hose?”

“Second drawer down.”

Nag Kath rummaged through the personal garments and found a linen legging of the type women wear in winter. He cut the foot off and slipped it over Mrs. Londreg’s fracture. Then the Elf started binding the reed stalks together with strips he ripped off the cloth. Fifteen minutes later, the splint was in place. He stood up and said, “I’ll be back in a week. Do not walk on that.” The Elf pulled a clay bottle with a cork stopper out of his bag and shook it to see how much was left adding, “Make a strong tea with this and drink it twice a day for three days.” 

A day away might have fooled the yellow Odar into biting but other anglers had no better luck. These must be the smart ones. By the fourth day he gave up on fish of the sea and fooled some trout in the river with disguised hooks. 

____________-------____________

Cantering back to his inn at dusk he saw two riders waiting out front. They recognized their man and stiffly swung out of their saddles. The older of the two said in a courtlier manner than expected, “Your pardon, sir. Are you the healer known to Amarond Lestimar?”

Nag Kath climbed off his horse and cudgeled his memory, “I cannot place the name but I am indeed a healer. How can I help?”

“We are sent on behalf of a lady of the region who is in dire need. Her physicians can do nothing more for her and are not even sure of the ailment. It came to our house’s attention that you were nearby. We come to ask you to attend her.”

Nag Kath considered that and said, “In that case, step into my office.” He walked to the last rays of sun on the side lawn and sat in the clover. Both riders joined him after tying their horses to the guest rails.

The older man spoke first, “I am Tolanger Brittanal and this is my cousin Stepick Brittanal. The lady is of noble blood and we are charged to keep her situation private.”

“I understand. Please continue Mr. Brittanal.”

The rider added, “Two months ago she began having fainting spells and trouble remembering things. She needed more sleep and had no appetite.”

“How old is the lady?”

Brittanal the younger answered, “She is forty two, sir.”

Brittanal the elder continued, “The lady has a history of ague but seems young for her age. Alas, eighteen days ago, she fell into a deep sleep with shallow breathing and cold to the touch. And so she remained at first light this day.”

The Elf said gravely, “I will have a care to keep this private, but you must tell me everything to divine the trouble.”

The cousins looked at each other. Their primary mission was to get the man on a horse at dawn tomorrow. If he needed to know things, so be it. The younger cousin this time; “She is the Princess Inariel Telcontar, daughter of the late King and sister of his Highness King Eldarion. Her mother was …”

Nag Kath interrupted, “I know the lady, and know her family. Her father was a dear friend to me. I lost track of the Princess some years back. Where is she now?”

Tolanger answered, “She is at her late husband’s estate in Dudhrandir. It is a hard day’s ride with a change of mounts in Zevalth. If you agree to this charge, we leave with the sun.”

“I accept, gladly.” Looking over to their horses, “Will you need new mounts ere we ride?”

“Nay, good sir. These are tired but have only been ridden since noon. They should be fine that far back tomorrow. We left Alas Forten with a string of horses and another rider to care for them. Fresh mounts will be waiting at the change.”

Stepick said sheepishly, “Forgive our manners, sir, but we don’t even know your name.”

“I am Nag Kath.”

Tolanger looked at the healer’s horse, “She should keep up just fine.”

Nag Kath agreed, “You have a good eye. She is of your Lady’s own Lossarnach stables and deserves more than a country doctor. Come, let us get you a room and make plans for dinner. I know you are not her physicians but I need to learn all I can.”

Nag Kath had a few chores. One was having the innkeeper’s lad visit the two folk he was healing to let them know he had to leave but would return. And Mrs. Londreg was not to walk unless her house was burning. That evening he consulted several Elvish manuscripts on healing, especially portions written by his new patient’s grandfather. He dropped them in his medicine kit and packed a saddlebag with a change of clothes. That was about all he could bring so he kept his room for another week and would leave A’mash here with the comforts of evening oats.

The three ate just before dawn and were on the road as soon as they could see. The longer leg would be the second through the Dudhrandir pass. Nobody spoke much at their strong pace but when the road widened, Nag Kath would ride next to one or the other to exchange views. Tolanger noticed the finely tooled saddle on Nag Kath’s Eliesse. “That is a fair saddle, Dr. Kath. From the north?”

“By a man of Rohan. They know their horses up there.

“I cannot say I have ever been. Belfalas soldiers usually stay here.”

“This is a beautiful land too, Sergeant Brittanal. Are you in service now?”

“Yes sir, I have been Sergeant to the younger Lord Kolland’s household these past fourteen years.”

“You would like Rohan Sarn’t.” He described the scenery. It was indeed beautiful – taken in large expanses. Small bits of ground were mostly dry grass and weeds but as a vista, it was breathtaking. He thought aloud, “Yes, I must return to the Mark one of these days.” 

They reached the headwaters of the Ardonun and pushed for the picturesque village of Zevalth. People with leisure came up for the hot springs and country inns. The Lady’s men rode directly to a stable near the center of town. Trooper Petrandal had four horses saddled and ready. They left their mounts with the stableman and had a quick, waiting meal. Then all four rode down the trail. The rest of the trip was uneventful. They followed the stream as it gained strength into the lake country of Dudhrandir. Soft rain caught them for an hour but they were nearly dry when they reached the Lady’s estate, Alas Forten. 

________________-------________________

It was gorgeous. Perfectly manicured grounds gave way to vineyards and orchards on a gradual south slope. The late Lord must have been an important man. He had certainly married well. This was not a defensible home. If it was attacked, you would leave. In the style of the area it was only two stories, painted brilliant white with reddish tile roofing. Large windows looked over the south slope. Stepick and Petrandal took the horses while Tolanger and Nag Kath climbed the front steps of the mansion. The Elf brought his small medicine bag. Servants scattered to inform the house steward and physician before they reached the entry. Both men met them in the hall. 

A short fellow with gray hair and a long gray beard introduced himself, “Thank you for coming sir. My name is Philothor Tan-Kolvas, physician to the Princess. This is Lieutenant Khouphal, steward of the estate. I am so glad these fellows found you. I confess; this malady is beyond me. Come this way.”

The healer, steward and Nag Kath walked up the wide staircase. Dr. Tan-Kolvas apologized, “I am sorry for my haste, good sir. We did not even know your name. One of the cooks' mothers was helped by you some years back and she told her son of your presence here just ere he returned from a family visit.”

“My name is Nag Kath and though your men were very discreet, I made them tell me who our patient is. It is twenty-five years since I saw her last.”

Healer or not, Dr. Tan-Kolvas was prepared to refuse him access until he learned this was Lord Kath of the Fevers, something of legend among doctors. The steward, a military man, said nothing and remained at the top of the stairs as a tall, stern woman joined them. She was introduced as Miss Told, her Highness’ lady’s maid, as they walked through to the bedchamber.

___________-------___________

Yes, it was Inariel. As a Dúnedain with much Elvish blood, she could be thirty three, though her face seemed made of glass now. She had gray in her dark brown hair which was as long as when Nag Kath saw her last.

The Elf knelt next to her large bed and watched her breathing closely. He clicked open his little lock knife and held the blade to her mouth. It barely showed the moisture. He was about to turn away but with all else still as the night, her eyelashes flickered almost imperceptibly. Folding the knife he looked to the physician and said, “We have work to do.” Turning to the maid, “I need a bowl of fresh water and clean towels.” Miss Told turned and walked to the door asking her assistant to fetch the towels. She got the water basin in lady’s dressing room next door. 

When both arrived, Nag Kath washed his hands thoroughly and dried them. Kneeling back beside the Princess he held her wrist gently and felt the pace and strength of her pulse. Then he pulled her eyelids back and looked into them for much longer than those present expected. Risking disapproval, he placed his ear on her breast testing the strength of her heart. Then he took Elrond’s book from his bag and flipped to a marked page, reading quickly. The healer took the Lady’s hand in one of his and gently placed his other hand above the artery in her throat.

At last he rose and sat at a small card table towards the far side of the lady’s large bedchamber. The physician joined him. “Dr. Tan-Kolvas, I have never seen this, but it appears to be what the Elf-Lord Elrond called Agar lhîw. That is when a person who is part-Elven is caught between the two bloodlines as they fight for primacy. 

“It seems strange that your lady should fall to this because she is three of four parts Elvish on the Lady Arwen’s side and Dúnedain on her father’s. Perhaps King Elessar’s blood had had a fair helping of Elf and those combined humors are now killing her.”

Tan-Kolvas asked, “Then there is a remedy?”

“It has always been fatal, even in the care of fine Elvish healers.”

Both men leaned back in their chairs and looked at the sleeping Princess. Their conversation could not be heard by the maid who was holding her Ladyship’s hand and desperately worried. Her chambermaid joined the silent vigil.

Tan-Kolvas had been the house physician to the younger Lord Kolland since Kolland was commissioned and the care showed on every line of his face. Nag Kath spoke deliberately, “Dr. Tan-Kolvas, I don’t know what you know of me, but my methods are of men, Elves and sorcerers. There is no cure known to the first two. The third offers hope. It will be dangerous, but the Princess will be dead in days if we do nothing.” The Elf bit his lip slightly, “It will also be dangerous for me, whether it succeeds or not. Since we cannot ask her ladyship’s permission, who can speak for her?”

“I can. She would approve. The Princess is not a timid creature.”

Nag Kath allowed himself a smile, “You said a mouthful, good doctor.” The Elf took a deep breath, “I purpose to transfer some of my own Elf life spirit to the Princess and confound the struggle in her blood. If I can break the deadlock, she will recover as Half-Elven like her grandfather. 

“I have never tried a spell exactly like this. It will take a great deal out of me – maybe all. If I fall into the same state as her Ladyship, place me face-up and dribble honeyed-tea in my mouth to keep me from drying. And if the Princess wakes before me, please ask her to do the same thing I am about to demonstrate, but only until her hands start to glow! That is important. Pull them from me if she cannot do so herself. That should be enough to wake the ember. We shall see how much of her healer ancestors lives in her veins. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Lord Kath. This is out of my ken, but it is time for courage and faith.”

The two men went back to Inariel’s bed. Nag Kath turned her so her head was near the edge where he could reach it kneeling. Then he placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her forehead just like in the old stories. Raising his head, the Elf closed his eyes and began softly murmuring in Quenya while sending power as the Drúedain might have.

For a minute nothing happened. Then his hands, followed by his bare arms, began to glow dull silver. Moments later, the lady’s face shone an orange/yellow hue at first but then transformed to match Nag Kath’s own silver. He started to tremble. All of the glowing stopped as Nag Kath’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over on a blanket the chambermaid thought to bring for him. He was as he feared. Servants bore him to chambers down the hall and kept vigil on both patients.

________-------__________

Until late the next afternoon, the Lady Inariel’s condition stayed the same. Then, as if breaking the surface after a deep dive, she took a long breath. Still fast asleep, her breathing gradually became normal. Some color returned but her face was still quite pale. Her chambermaid noticed and ran shouting in a forgivably undignified voice that her Ladyship was showing signs of life. The doctor, steward and head maid were there within minutes. 

Whoever had been with her did as Nag Kath recommended and squeezed a small cloth dipped in honeyed tea about her mouth every hour. On the next serving, they thought they saw her lick her lips. It was soon dark and Miss Told took the vigil until dawn with Doctor Tan sharing time between the two invalids. Nag Kath was cold to the touch. If he hadn’t described this state, they might have thought him dead. No one would have known, but this was almost what happened to him all those many times when he was changing from orc to Elf.

Accounts vary as to exactly when, but about an hour after dawn, the Princess blinked her eyes a few times and stretched like a cat with a small groan. The chambermaid had taken Miss Told’s place. She was tired too and had been nodding towards sleep when she heard her Ladyship. Inariel looked at her face and smiled. “Why are you here so early, Amali?”

Amali froze. After a few moments she gushed, “My Lady, you have been so very ill. And now you are returned!”

Inariel pulled herself up on her elbows until she was sitting against the headboard. Amali smiled at the rejuvenated face before shifting to an expression of concern followed by wonder. Unbidden, she leaned to see the side of her Lady's head and exhaled hard. The Princess wanted answers. “Amali, tell me what is happening.” It was said calmly, but she was the mistress of the house.

Amali composed herself, “My Lady, you have been dire sick and unconscious for three weeks. We all thought you would die. Dr. Tan did everything he could. Aramond in the kitchen knew of a traveling healer close by and several of your house guard went to fetch him.” She brightened, “He came and cured you.”

Her ladyship felt hard-used but was strangely exhilarated. The maid’s face was still perplexed. “Well, what else?”

“Oh my Lady, he made you an Elf!”

The Lady Inariel’s eyes widened. She was still for an instant and then swung her feet out of bed and hurried to her dressing table mirror. Now it was her turn look in wonder. She ran her hands over her skin which was as smooth as the day she married. The gray in her hair was gone. Slowly, as if not sure she wanted confirmation, she pulled her hair behind her ears. They were just like her mother’s.

“How is this possible?” she asked of the air. “Where is Dr. Tan-Kolvas?”

“He was up all night with you my lady and just retired an hour ago. I will fetch him.”

“No, let him sleep. But have Miss Told and the Lieutenant come forthwith.” Amali was a good athlete and fair sped through the room and down the stairs. Her Ladyship started brushing her new hair.

Inariel had managed to put on her dressing robe when Miss Told rounded the open door. The worried woman put her hands to her cheeks and cried, “Bless me!” She had been her Ladyship’s personal attendant since the Princess was a betrothed, one of the last of the Minas Tirith contingent left on staff. She ran over and knelt with her hands folded as she had through so many other trials. Then she noticed the face, and the ears. “So it is true. My Lady, how do you feel?”

The Princess knitted her brows, an expression Queen Arwen tried in vain to discourage, and said, “I feel better than I have in years. But I also feel like I just swam the Cloathus (an unpleasant swamp near the mouth of the Glanhir). “Be a dear and draw me a nice, hot bath. I want to face this new day properly.” As Miss Told instructed her staff, the Princess added, “And then a hearty breakfast. I could eat a goose!” The Princess was not as dependent on her dressers as many noble ladies. Now, which of these drawers held her tooth powders?

After eating more than she or any other delicate flower of the court should, Lady Inariel went outside to look at the majestic vista from the front garden. As Amalie brought tea, her mistress asked, “Now, what of the healer? I take it he left while I slept?”

Amalie became grave. “Oh no, my Lady. He is near to dead. Dr. Tan said the healer thought it might kill him. He is lying in one of the guest rooms even now.”

Inariel lifted her dress so she could dash up the garden steps into the house. A hall boy stared at her ears and heard; “Where is the healer?”

“The blue room, ma’am. I will take you.”

Both of them strode purposely up the stairs to the guest wing of the mansion. Opening the door she saw another boy sitting vigil and blocking the sleeper’s face. Laying her hand on the lad’s shoulder he saw her, stood and bowed while she took his place on the stool. Princess Inariel turned the healer’s chin to face her with a small, startled exhale then whispered, “Leave me with him. Let no one in.”

As they left, she started to cry. It was him; the thoughtful, heroic Elf she had scorned to show all she was purer, the Elf her mother thought she should have been, who just smiled with kindness and wit spoiling her childish gibes. And now he was dying to save her! She cried for him and for all she loved and all she had not done. It poured out for an hour. Miss Told waited as patiently as she could in the hall with Amalie. When her tears stopped, Inariel slowly stood and opened the door. Both women bowed low and did not meet her gaze when they rose. The Princess went to her chambers and looked out the window. No one followed her.

Was this really how things were meant to be? She wondered why there had to be so much pain. First her cherished father was gone after his long life. Then mother; following him in grief. Only four years later, her beloved husband; dying so young of a fever caught hunting the little roan deer near the river. And now; her father’s dear friend dying just down the hall because of her.

Another tear was about to emerge. She fought it back. Inariel was not a petulant little Princess. She was a woman-grown and middle-aged before this morning. She never had children, not that she and Lord Kolland hadn’t enjoyed trying. Life settled in on her. The White City seemed so far away. Her nephews and nieces hardly knew her. She had been left a life estate in Kolland’s country home. It was peaceful here. It was where she would grow old.

_____________--------____________

As she considered her world, Dr. Tan-Kolvas rose and dressed for the day. It was past the lunch hour so he ambled towards the kitchen hoping cook would take pity on him. Amalie rushed ten feet by before she realized who he was. Out of breath, she told him her Ladyship was awake and well.

“Child, I told you to fetch me if the Princess woke!”

“I’m sorry sir. Her Ladyship told me to let you sleep after your vigil.” 

To ease what must be only the latest of many shocks to the poor girl he told her; “Then you did correctly. Now, I must see your mistress straight away.”

The doctor was long past trotting up stairs but he did hurry. Inariel’s door was open. He knocked and seeing she was dressed, walked in, bowed, and waited to be acknowledged. The lady would not have kept him those extra moments but her thoughts were elsewhere. Then she turned and graciously nodded. He beamed, “I am so happy to see you restored, your Highness." His eyes were not as strong as in his youth, but he took on the same look of amazement as Amalie at just how restored her Ladyship was. She could be half her former age.

But her pretty face was sad. “I am sorry to not be as glad as you, but the poor man who gave me this gift is dying for it and leaves me in sorrow.”

Dr. Tan uttered a word one seldom uses before their betters and then added, “Oh, I do wish they had woken me. Nag Kath gave me instruction on how you were to revive him if he fell into stupor.” If the good doctor had had more to say, he would have to run as fast as his mistress.

The Princess opened the blue room door, startling the lad who stood and bowed again. “Show me.”

Dr. Tan instructed, “Boy, help me turn him so his head is just at the edge, good lad.” Nag Kath did not weigh as much as they expected. After he was rearranged, the doctor knelt and said, “My lady, he requested you should do the same thing as he did to you. He put his hands like so. That was the important part, although he gave you a little kiss on the forehead after he looked at your face. Your hands should start to glow. When they do, you are to release them and he will begin his return.”

The physician moved and Lady Inariel knelt as he had done. Her hands were smaller but she laid them on the Elf’s temples and gently gave him a long kiss on the brow. It took a minute longer than Nag Kath’s practiced touch but her hands did begin to emanate faint silver. Fingers felt attached to his face and she had to pull hard to take them away. It seemed an eternity, but only a few minutes later, Nag Kath took a breath. He was on his way back.

Inariel rose and looked kindly at her devoted physician. “Doctor, I need you to tell me what just happened.”

They walked downstairs and sat at the end of the dining table. An attendant brought cool tea which both gladly accepted. It would take several days to replace the living waters in her new body. Tan-Kolvas had rehearsed the story he hoped so very much to tell; “My lady, we were despondent. Do you recall when you started falling and fainting?”

“Yes, but not what came of it. I remember you treating me as if for a fever.”

“Not quite three weeks ago you were near death and we were waiting for the worst. But you endured. Aramond knew of a strange wandering healer who cared for his mother years ago and heard he was in the area when visiting her. When Aramond returned to service, he gave us straws to clutch. I had done my sorry best so the Lieutenant ordered a troop of your household men to go forth and bring him to you.

“If I may be so bold, your Ladyship was lucky. This fellow said you had a rare condition caused by your Elvish and mannish bloods in conflict with no care to the damage it might do you. He conjured sorcery to replace enough of your mannish line with his own Elvish life spirit to decide the contest in favor of your mother’s people. But he also knew it might be the end of him, or near enough that only another Elf could bring him back. And now it seems the gamble has been won.” Beaming with affection, “I am so happy for you, ma’am.”

“Pray, old friend, how long will he sleep?”

“I do not know. After you started breathing again, if you woke this morning, a full day. I’m sorry but I do not know for sure.” The old physician looked her in the eye and added, “He knew to look for that in your family.”

“He was a friend to my father.”

_________________-------________________

At dawn the next morning, Nag Kath woke like he had too many times before and tried to stretch the pain out of his body. A man in the same shape would have said he was getting too old for this. It still hurt. He rose tenderly and exchanged his sleeping gown for his trousers. Wrapping the quilt over his shoulders, he walked barefoot down the servant’s stairs and out the east door to a small stone bench overlooking the vineyard. The bench was covered with dew but he did not mind. It reminded him of Nennûrad.

He sat there for two hours breathing in rhythmic Elvish fashion to speed air to his blood. Every so often he would stretch or flex soreness from his muscles. Nag Kath could sit upright though he was still very weak. Something went wrong. It should not have taken so much from him. Maybe that’s why it had always been fatal. Elves knew better than to intervene. 

Inside, a hall boy was replacing flowers. He saw his mistress uncommonly early for her and said, “Good morning, My Lady. You asked us to tell you about our guest. He is sitting in the east garden enjoying the morning.”

“Thank you, Thoma, would you bring mugs of tea?” Her smile was so radiant that Thoma entertained thoughts unbecoming his station. She was said to be the greatest beauty of the realm when she married twenty years ago. Thoma joined the household after the King died and by then, her cares were showing. He bowed and walked to the kitchen before his face betrayed his presumption. To Thoma’s surprise, her ladyship waited where she was until he returned with the tea. In the fashion of the district, it was not served on a tray. Mugs had handles for a reason. She walked out to the bench, now dry with the rising sun.

The healer didn’t hear her until she was only a few feet away. Neither of them knew just how quiet she had become. Nag Kath rose with a bow and smiled wanly. She said, “Please, sit.” He did as she sat next to him and handed him a mug. “They told me what you did. Thank you.” 

This was supposed to be easier. She had already cried her eyes out at his bedside. “I … I … oh dear, just look at me. Why, Nag Kath? Why did you risk so much? I know you were father’s friend but I treated you awfully.” A couple tears sneaked through. “You risked your life for me and I never showed you anything but disdain. Why?”

His smile broadened, “Ah, you have forgotten the flower.”

One cannot cry and respond to something like that. She composed her face and asked tentatively, “The flower?”

“Yes. You must have been about five. I was reading on the Imladris bench by the diplomatic row. You came out with your governess. You saw me and picked a flower, a poppy I think, and brought it to me with the most beautiful smile I have yet seen. I will always remember how sweet you were.”

She was about to apologize again but he kept going, “And let us not forget your painting lesson. Do you recall that?”

Doubt crossed her face, “I think so. That was you?”

“Sorry to say. You might have been nine and wanted to help. We made a terrible mess but you had such fun. You smiled then too.” That memory finally brought out his farm-boy grin.

Her face became serious again, “But after that, I was very rude to you. On purpose. When I learned of your, um, creation I behaved very badly. I’m so sorry, I …”

He reached for her hands, “Please, My Lady, you have been given a whole new life. Everything has changed. I know. It happened to me too. Can we not start completely fresh and leave mortal cares behind?”

For the first time she realized she was immortal. It was never planned but, like she thought of her cares earlier, plans don’t always matter. “Yes, please, let it be so.”

Nag Kath touched her cheek with the back of his fingertips, “And speaking of Elves, you wear it well, My Lady.”

“My friends call me Inara.”

“Inara, then. You are just as I remember you. Come, I must raid your pantry before I fade away.”

They walked back to the east door. He was sprier than leaving so he loped upstairs for his clothes. The raid on the pantry quickly became several servants bringing cold dishes, tea and pastries to the formal dining table. One servant was Aramond who had recommended the Elf. Her Ladyship bestowed a dazzling smile on him. Dr. Tan-Kolvas, Miss Told and Lieutenant Khouphal joined them separately. Though it would never do for formal occasions, as the Princess withdrew from public life, she allowed her senior staff to sit with her. 

Nag Kath was still quite fatigued but explained the transformation of the Lady in more detail. The doctor was of the school of herbs, treatments and diet rather than the rare type who absorbed others’ maladies at some cost to themselves. He was not overweight like many physicians so maybe he took his own advice. They talked of inconsequential things. Miss Told kept sneaking glances at her little Ina’s ears. The lady’s maid had never been beautiful and now her charge had been so twice.

After an hour, the Elf was drained. Dr. Tan asked, “Forgive my professional curiosity but how long will it take for you to fully recover, Nag Kath?

“Does it show? Yes, I fear so. This was harder than most shocks I’ve taken, but I should be myself in two or three days.” 

It could be said that every action we take determines all of the ones that follow, but some are easily identified as turning-points. The next sequence of events changed the fates of many. 

Tolanger Brittanal and Petrandal came looking for Nag Kath in the main room. Petrandal approached, bowed and said, “Excuse me, my Lady. I wanted to tell Dr. Kath that the same horse he rode here will be ready for him tomorrow morning.” Looking to the Elf, he added, “And thank you for your gift to our house.”

The Princess wondered that her healer had to leave so soon, “Well said trooper, I thank you for your concern. And you, Sergeant, I haven’t thanked you and your cousin properly for bringing me this lovely man. I am deeply grateful.”

Brittanal almost blushed at such a high compliment and managed to say, “Thank you, Your Highness. You gave us quite a scare. Welcome back.” He bowed and began to leave but then looked at the sleepy Elf and added, “And thank you, sir. May the wind be to your back on your way to Rohan.” Another bow and the two men walked toward the corridor.

Princess Inariel had been trained by her mother not to let her face betray grave tidings, but notice that Nag Kath would leave tomorrow ... and that he was going to the Mark? She had to think about this. Nag Kath stretched while rising and groaned, “My Lady, new friends of Alas Forten, my bed calls. I will see you soon.” With a deep bow he trudged upstairs.

_________________--------________________

On only her second night as an Elf she could easily see by the light of a half moon. And oh so quiet, barefoot, like her mother who no one else heard coming. Inariel knew. Perhaps a glimpse into what she would become.

Inariel silently closed the Elf’s door behind her. Lifting his nightshirt, she gently sat astride his waist. Normally he could not be approached in stealth but he was still weak as a kitten. He woke and tried to rise with a ‘Mumph’ before the Princess pushed his shoulders back on the pillow and put her finger to her lips.

Shortly afterwards, he sighed, “I must be in heaven.”

She pulled her head from his chest and murmured, “I have wanted to do that for ages.”

“Mmmmmm, I hope it was worth the wait.”

With barely a breath she whispered, “Oh yes.” Then she sat up on him and bit her lip slightly before saying, “Please, you must not think me wicked or wanton. It has been so long, and I have been so alone. I felt my life slipping away.” Nag Kath thought she might cry. “And then you were suddenly here and I feel so alive.”

He told her, “You have given me a gift beyond price.” With a little smile, “Though it was unexpected.”

“I don’t blame you. After I …”

“Shhh, remember, we are starting fresh.”

She confessed, “I had a terrible crush on you.”

“Crush?”

“Girls who are desperately infatuated by young men can never say what they feel. So they usually say nothing or something wrong.”

“Then I am flattered. Mmmmm, I wish I had known.”

Her beautiful face became serious again. “But now I learn that you must go far away, perhaps never to return. This was my only chance. Please forgive me for taking it.” Tears were starting to fall now. She had never forgotten the handsome knight off to slay dark lords, slain himself in service to her family. “Must you go?”

“Yes ... but not very far.”

That brought her up short. “Not … Rohan?”

“Nargond. It’s a little town …”

“I know where Nargond is.”

“Ah, well, your men came for me so urgently that I left my patients and all my things there. My horse is probably still in Zevalth. And I MUST rescue poor A’mash.”

It could not have taken her longer to say, “A’mash?”

“My mule. He will be missing me terribly. You'll like A’mash.” Then he broke into his most Nag Kath-ish grin.

The tears were gone. She glowed with an all too human smile, “Oh, you are terrible!” After a moment, “And what are your plans after leaving Nargond?”

“Hmmm, after I am sure my charges are healing, I was thinking of going to the Autumn Festival in Osgiliath. I haven’t been in a few years and there is so much to see. But … I could be talked out of it.”

“Do you mean you might want to, to be with me?”

“More than I can say.”

Inariel laid her head back on the Elf’s chest and murmured, “How long must you be gone?”

“Two days to get there. We came in one, but that was riding hard with a change of horses. Two days in town and two back. Call it a week if there’s weather.”

She pulled her head up nose-to-nose, “I will miss you every moment you’re away.”

“You will come with me, of course.”

She sat up again, “What, no, I have to … I have so much to do here.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You were asleep for three weeks and your people performed admirably.” His face became more serious. “It is perfect. We can be alone. We can talk. There is a pretty little inn in Zevalth near a waterfall. You can see how I live. You might not even like me. By the time we reach Nargond, you might send me packing to the Autumn Festival with poor A’mash!”

She giggled. “I will come with you. Must we leave very early?”

“No. Seven hour ride tomorrow. Five the next. I should think after a late breakfast. You might want to dress plainly.”

“Well, since we don’t have to rise early …” her hand reached for him.

“Oh no you don’t. I have to recover my Elvish spirit, not share it with beautiful, desirable, hungry, uhm, did I say beautiful, Elvish Princesses.”

Rising as if on air, “I will see you then.”


	9. The Transfer of Humors

**_Chapter 9_ **

**_The Transfer of Humors_ **

Her advisors ranged from concerned to aghast, except Miss Told. They thought she would be more distraught than any of them but she just smiled and said to have a good time. Miss Told had no affiliation with the fief. She wasn’t concerned with propriety. If this was the same Nag Kath who could slay trolls while invisible, the Princess was reasonably safe. She just knew that her little Ina was alive and going on a short pleasure trip with the handsome Lord who kissed her awake, just like in the stories. It was romantic.

The Princess laid down the law. She was going. Everyone was to do their job and do it well until she returned. By the time Nag Kath wandered downstairs, everyone was smiling just like Miss Told.

Inariel appeared in a modest riding outfit. She had taken his suggestion to travel light. Her chestnut gelding still had a fair-sized bag behind the saddle but Nag Kath remembered hearing her wedding train was three wagons. Even more modest; Nag Kath’s riding clothes had been laundered and his medical kit was tied to the saddlebag.

Trooper Stepick Brittanal stood at attention holding the reins to Nag Kath’s horse. The Elf walked over and made a show of inspecting the belly strap while softly saying, “Slip a small horn in my bag. If you hear it, come running.” He knew they would have men following and now they knew he knew.

It was a pretty day. The leaves were changing. The couple’s pace gave their mounts plenty of time to rest. Cook packed a veritable feast for their midday snack. As her Ladyship discovered, Nag Kath did not eat much and never meat. She didn’t eat hers to respect his sensibilities and did not miss it as much as she thought.

A few hours before sundown they reached Zevalth. This high; the trees were exploding with color. The village could not have had more than eighty families, most of whom earned their living serving tourists coming up from the lake region for the air and mineral springs. Physicians often told patients to soak their cares away. 

There were several inns. Unusually, they had small cabins for each family rather than a larger building for all of them. It was more private for those here discreetly and also let folk visit the mineral pools on their own schedule. Nag Kath and Inariel stopped at the central stable. With a whistle, Eliesse came trotting from the far side and whinnied. The Princess gushed, “Oh Nag Kath, she’s lovely.”

“She’s one of yours. I think from the Rohan stock King Éomer gave your father.” Inariel had nothing else to say and smiled with her eyes at this kind man. They checked into one of the inns and went to the mineral baths before a delicious trout dinner. 

____________-------____________

Ladies of high station were expected to marry and produce their husband’s heirs. Pleasure was optional, and not always well explained. Inariel learned to enjoy intimacy with the Lord when he was home, but it was brief and only in the most conventional manner. Nag Kath suspected as much by her urgency the night before. This night they took a very long time. 

The next morning the Princess was thoroughly distracted at breakfast, which he thoroughly enjoyed. A pleasant ride in fair weather brought them to Nag Kath’s inn bathed in afternoon sun. Now on Eliesse, he wondered if the Lady’s men would take their horse home.

There was some risk the Princess would be recognized. She had only been here once, traveling in state, but she looked just like she did then. The greater chance was that someone from Dol Amroth would be berthed here. Elves were so rare now that everyone would see the Elf, not the Lady. For the first time as an adult she wore one of her mother’s hair circlets.

The innkeeper’s son made coppers running errands for guests. He was sitting on the stoop when they arrived. The lad ran down to them, bowed and said, “Welcome back to the Dor-en-Ernil, Dr. Kath. Hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“Thank you, Tevin. Is it too late for lunch?”

“I’ll see what cook can manage.” He took Inariel’s bag and hefted it inside. Nag Kath followed with his satchel. 

Cook managed a crusty pie with vegetables, cheese and chicken. Nag Kath avoided the chicken but all else was good. He was pleased to see that country fare suited her Ladyship, judging by the damage she did hers. They went upstairs to his room. Her bags were on a stand and well away from the bag he left behind. Princess Inariel walked to the bed and was put in mind of last night. With a dreamy smile she wandered towards his bag but then stopped, unable to remember why she had gone that way. Back at the bed, she did not even remember she had forgotten.

Nag Kath watched quietly. Sitting next to her he looked in her eyes and said, “Natosch.” 

She felt no different and laughed saying, “Whatever is that?”

“Do you remember walking over to my bag?”

She shook her head, “No, I came in and sat down.”

“I just released you from a spell of confusion I placed on that bag. Anyone who comes near it will forget why they are there.”

“No, I’m sure I came in and sat down.”

Nag Kath said evenly, “I thought in your new form it might not affect you but, I confess, I waited to see. It is one of my better spells.”

She did not doubt him. She had scolded him as a girl and assumed he was the effete traveler he appeared. But she learned later this was a powerful creature with strengths of men, Elves and wizards. 

“We should check on grouchy Mrs. Londreg and then have a care for poor Mr. Cuumbs.”

Nag Kath had Tevin water the horses but leave them outside. He tied his medical kit to the back of his saddle and they rode a little further back the way they came before turning right down a farm lane.

His patient had done exactly as he said. She was sitting on the porch with her leg in the splint resting on a pillow. To the dismay of respectable neighbors, the woman was smoking a small clay pipe with northern leaf. “Hello, Nag Kath!”

“Hello, Mrs. Londreg. It is a fair day.”

“Not when you’re trussed-up like a turkey. When can I walk again?”

Nag Kath took his kit and a small parcel Tevin handed him at the inn. They walked up on the porch. “Same as I told you last, at least another three weeks. You cracked it again for not doing that the first time.”

“I know, I know. Who’s this? She’s too pretty for around here!”

“This is …” They hadn’t talked about traveling incognito. 

Her Ladyship took charge, “I am Inara. Pleased to meet you.”

Nag Kath unwrapped his parcel and placed a stout bottle with a cork stopper on the table next to his patient.

“Oh bless you, Dr. Kath! I take back most of the things I said!”

He put on his doctor face and pronounced, “All right. Let’s have a look.” Gently unwrapping the cloth around the reed slats exposed the long sock just over her knee. He slowly rolled that down towards her foot and looked at the break. The bruising and swelling was down as much as it should be. Nag Kath took a similar length of cloth from his kit bag and rewrapped her leg just as it had been.

“Well, Mrs. Londreg. It looks like you will live another day. When you can move in another month …”

“Three weeks! Already been one.”

“In a month, be sure not to favor it so it gets weaker than your left leg.” He went back to his Nag Kath smile, “You are going to be just fine.”

He and Inariel rose and climbed on their horses as the old lady re-lit her pipe. “Come! Time for more introductions!”

_____________------_____________

Like Zevalth, and many towns in Belfalas, there was a common paddock to serve the immediate area. They rode to the gate and dismounted. Nag Kath quietly untied his saddlebag flap and got a handful of oats. Then he honked through his nose. Almost instantly, a gray jack mule hurried around the stall wall and ran to them. Nag Kath poured the oats into Inariel’s palm saying, “My Lady, this is A’mash. He is not clever, but he can be bribed.”

She cooed, “Oh, aren’t you adorable!” A’mash thought so too but his main concern was that tiny handful of grain. Gone in a slurp, he reached his muzzle over the railing to touch noses. He wasn’t quite that adorable but she rubbed his ear.

Nag Kath told him, “I’ll wager you thought I’d left you forever! There’s a good fellow.” 

"How long have you had him?"

"A week."

That got him one of her famous stares. As soon as Tevin saw them arrive at the paddock, he ran from the inn with a gaunt young woman. The lad huffed, “Dr. Kath, this is Enideth and she’s powerful worried.”

The woman was fretful but waited until she was introduced. “Dr. Kath, bless me, you are here! My mistress is in labor too soon and the babe has not turned. Mrs. Quarrles is in town with another birth. Oh, can you please help her?”

“Of course.” He and Inariel climbed on their horses, Nag Kath offered the woman his hand to pull her up. She looked like he must have when he had to ride Vandery all those years ago. 

She said tersely, “Tevin knows the way. I’ll be along directly.”

With that, Nag Kath hoisted the lad on the front of his saddle and got directions back towards Mrs. Londreg’s house but turned left instead of right. Not a mile from the inn was a lovely little house of what must be rather prosperous farmers. Most of the crops were in for the year but there were still fall flowers in bloom.

He, Tevin and the Princess hurried up the short steps to the porch and entered without knocking. The farmer, a tall, thin fellow, was standing in an inside door jamb. “You the doc? My wife’s in here.”

Tevin waited in the main room as the Elves kept going. Inside was a woman in bed on her back writhing and groaning in pain. Next to her was a younger woman who was holding her hand for comfort but crying against the likely outcome. Healer Kath walked up and demanded, “Who are you?”

“Pati, milord.”

“Pati, I want a bowl of the cleanest water you can find and clean towels. Off you go!”

The girl fair sped to the main room and was back with water. The farmer brought in some surprisingly white towels. Nag Kath rinsed his hands and sat on the bed next to the stricken mother. Without any regard for propriety, he lifted her smock and put both hands on the woman’s abdomen. She was weak after hours of labor but still moaned in alarm seeing him and from the firm pressure he applied.

His hands slowly shone a dull silver. Under them the woman’s belly had a faint yellow tinge. Slowly, slight movement inside her followed his right hand like a spoon tracking a load-stone under parchment. His face was a picture in concentration. The woman grimaced as Pati wiped her brow with one of the towels.

After ten minutes he looked to Inariel who had been standing quietly and said, “The baby’s almost turned. I need you to bring it forth.” He shifted around to the woman’s head and put his hands on her temples and jaw, just as he did for the Princess only a few days before.

The Princess Inariel Telcontar, once a spoiled child, was a woman now and the daughter of Elessar and Arwen, healers of renown. Their strength showed through. She removed her jacket, untied her cuffs and rolled the sleeves back to her elbows. Washing off the mule slobber, she went to the foot of the bed and waited. Nag Kath was reducing the woman’s pain enough for her to force the child from her very soon. Sure enough, a tiny head appeared. The royal midwife gently received it as its mother strained with new energy. Shortly after, her Highness was holding a perfect baby girl.

No one imagined what came next. Inariel’s bare arms emitted a deep orange glow that traveled through her hands and illuminated the newborn. It caused the babe no distress and was over in seconds. Everyone saw it. Pati cut and tied the cord. Then the Princess kissed the child’s forehead and put her in her mother’s waiting arms.

The mother seemed to be fine. She would hurt like never before when the pain spell weakened but there was no continued bleeding and her face had returned to what must be a Rohan red to match her hair. The Elves walked into the main room followed by the proud father to find Enideth sitting at the kitchen table with Tevin.

Nag Kath said to the man, “She had a very difficult delivery but it seems all is well now. Was this her first?”

“Aye. And a long time comin’.” 

“No strain or heavy lifting. Treat her like a Princess.” He didn’t notice his stock, doctor phrase said in the presence of a blood-Princess. “I would like to come back tomorrow morning to check on them both.”

“That glow, is the babe sound?”

“Just a little Elvish spell. She is fine.”

The man grinned from ear-to-ear, “I can’t thank you enough. You too, miss. You just tell me your charge and I’ll get it right now.”

Nag Kath put his hand on the man’s shoulder, which was almost as high as his own, and said, “There is no charge. Love her and care for her and we are doubly blessed. We’ll see you in the morning.”

He and Inariel walked off the porch. He took her elbow and led her past the horses towards a small brook. Twenty yards from the house, she felt she would be ill and blanched ash white. The feeling passed and they continued to the bank.

She wobbled a little but regained her balance and looked at him. As if every next word was a sentence of its own she asked, “Would you mind telling me what just happened?”

“Let’s sit you down first.” If he hadn’t caught her, she would have folded into the grass.

He sat next to her, “I can’t be sure, but I think we just found out why you recovered so fast, why I nearly died, the lifespan of the new child and a complication in the succession for the crown of Gondor. Where would you like to start?”

She blinked and tried to regain her focus.

He continued, “Very well. I hoped the spell I used in Alas Forten would replace enough of your Dúnedain life spirit with my Elvish to win the day for your mother’s people. It did not. It completely replaced your father’s line and took all I had. You woke in a day fully healed because you are full-Elven. I am only just now well."

He looked at the brook, “But your father’s essence was not dissipated. It remained in your flesh. When you delivered the child, it passed to her. Besides me, was the babe the first person you touched since your transformation?”

Inariel nodded slowly.

“I think you just brought your own sister into the world, in a manner of speaking.”

She felt strong enough to ask, “How is that possible? No, wait. What does it mean for the child?”

“Well, I’m still not certain. I think she will look like her parents but may live 200 years. And though not by blood, she became your father’s daughter as you became mine.” There was a thought! “I did not think to unclaimed life spirit, but I had to take the risk to save you and I would do it again every time.”

Inariel kept nodding and finally said, “Thank you, I am glad to be here.” Then she looked at her bloody hands as if for the first time.

Even with no one else to hear he said quietly, “We should keep this to ourselves. Should your brother’s line falter, as happened to the kings before the stewards, Men would elevate her or her progeny just as Aragorn was called from far-away Arnor. There are those who would use that to their advantage and others who would do anything to stop it. And now, what of you, my dear? This must all be a terrible shock.”

Inariel looked back to the farmhouse and then to him. Offering a wan smile she said, “Life will be interesting with you, Nag Kath. Now I’m hungry again.”

He helped her to her feet and they walked back to the horses. Even with her new immortal balance, she was still disoriented and shuffled the whole way holding his hand.

“My Lady, have I told you how magnificent you were?”

“Hmmm?”

____________-------___________

Nag Kath was prepared to help her on the horse but she swung into the saddle before he expected. She managed to ride fairly well too. It was only getting off that she lost her balance and stumbled backwards into his arms. Tevin had to walk back. A tenner made that very much worth the effort.

The Elf had expected to ask the kitchen to order up more food but the Princess trudged directly upstairs until she paused. Nag Kath carried her from the landing and laid her in bed.

It had taken the changeling almost three years to not need sleep, and he still slept when he had extended himself magically. Inariel had come to Elvendom by a much different route. She would have to write her own story. Her Ladyship was a heavy sleeper. Nag Kath undressed her to her undergarments and pulled the covers up around her chin. Then he walked over to the chair near his bag and kept vigil. 

It turned out to be just a long cat nap. She woke a little before sunset with her hair in all directions. Were Nag Kath a proper lady’s maid, he would have bound it before she retired. The Princess licked her teeth and squinted before sitting up in bed. Seeing him she asked, “Do you show all the girls such a good time?”

“Only royalty.” 

“Does this happen to you often, Nag Kath?”

“This was a first. I still surprise myself.”

She lay on her side and he joined her with his chest to her back. Tenderly he told her, “I hope you do not send me packing to Osgiliath with A’mash because I am falling hopelessly in love with you.”

She rolled over and put her hand on his face. “Let’s eat.”

Inariel washed her hands and was dressed in a few minutes. With a ten-copper in his pocket, Tevin was waiting by the desk. The other guests carried their own bags so the healer was the man to serve. He walked up to the couple and said, “Beggin’ your pardon, Dr. Kath, Miss Inara. I made bold telling Mr. Cuumbs you’se birthin’ farmer Leavon’s new girl. He said his palsy is much better and not to come by, unless you want to.”

Nag Kath nodded, “Thank you Tevin.” He was of two minds. No matter how many times he told people he did not need payment, a few would decide they were on the mend and avoid the last visit in case he brought a bill. Mr. Cuumbs seemed a likely candidate. With a lovely new patient waiting for dinner, he would take the man at his word.

They were seated immediately. The summer tourists were back in Dol Amroth so the Dor-en-Ernil was winding towards their slow season. You ate what they served here but it was good. The red Odar were running in deeper waters and cook had gotten a few that morning.

When they were alone, Inariel murmured, “You said I was magnificent.”

“Yes. I wasn’t sure you heard. And you were.”

“She is a beautiful baby. They all are. Do you have children, Nag Kath?”

“I never had a child of my blood, but I have been a stepfather twice. They tell me I was good at it. I like children, though I do not know that I can have them.”

She looked at the fine porcelain wine cup and said, “I was too stunned to say anything when you told me about the orange glow. Now that I have slept on it, I like the idea that part of my father survived. He was the greatest of men. My brother has three children. Millicend has two. Two of those five are boys with grandsons now too. Dorthans and I tried but it was not to be. We took it well. Now, perhaps, well, I don’t know ...”

Nag Kath had been mulling this since he saw the glow and thought he should fill some gaps. “I have so much to tell you. Perhaps I should start with the color. I was given a gift as a healer to see that different races have their own life hues. Elves are silver. Men are yellow. Dwarves red. Orcs are a greenish black. I am not sure but I think the orange is Dúnedain, a strong yellow for a strong race of men. That was the color I saw go to the babe.”

Inariel looked concerned, “And she will be fine?”

“She took it well. We’ll have a closer look tomorrow. Apart from that; today we learned you are a healer. That child came to you very easily. Your grandfather was a legend among healers and your mother had gifts there too. Your father had the healing hands of the King. By blood, you may be the greatest healer Middle-Earth has ever known. Someday you will put poor me to shame.”

“You said you were falling in love with me.”

“Already fallen.”

The Princess calculated, “Good, then you are exactly where I want you.” Changing the topic slightly, “I think Auntie Inara and Uncle Nag should visit the child every so often.”

“That occurred to me.” 

She rose without a word and took him by the hand towards the staircase. Seeing their serving woman he asked Inara, “Would you excuse me a moment?” and walked over to her. A moment later he was back.

Inariel said, “Thank you for thinking of them. They are good, loyal men out there in the bushes, thought I think Stepick does not like fish.”

With a wry smile, “My Lady’s hearing is much improved.” 

_______________--------______________

They woke early. Princess Inariel liked to sleep-in but the Elf in her was emerging and they usually greet the dawn. He held her chastely while she slept. After a light breakfast, they walked from the inn to the farmhouse. 

Mr. Leaven was splitting wood out front. He saw the couple coming and shouted, “Good morning!” Sinking the axe into the stump, he walked forward to shake hands. “I’m sorry, we weren’t rightly introduced. I am Delthandir Leaven.”

The Princess said, “This is Nag Kath and I am Inara.”

Nag Kath added, “That sounds like a northern name.”

Mr. Leaven wiped his brow with a handkerchief and said, “Yep. Some history there.” He started walking back towards the house. Over his shoulder he asked, “I don’t care much for tea but Enedith just made it hot. Want some?”

Nag Kath answered, “Yes, thank you. But first I should check on the missus and your new daughter. Forgive me, what is your wife’s name?”

“Beksa. It’s short for something pretty long. It will serve. Come in.”

Enedith was in the kitchen and curtsied when the couple walked inside. She slept in a small room on the other side of the home from the Leaven’s bedroom. Pati walked from where she had been tending Beksa and curtsied as well. They would later find she was a cousin of some sort taken-in after a young buck took advantage and then dishonored their betrothal by leaving on another man’s horse. Pati was a comely young woman, on the short side with flaxen hair. Nag Kath thought her fiancé a fool. Pati worked for room and board, thought that was thought to be temporary. Beksa Leaven was sitting in bed suckling her daughter. She was much recovered, thought still weak. “Please excuse me for not rising.”

Inariel smiled and said, “That is understandable. How are you today?”

“A bit sore, but I’ll be fit soon enough.”

Nag Kath took charge, “With your permission, ma’am. I would like to make sure you and the child are fine.” Mrs. Leaven nodded. Inariel held the baby as Nag Kath felt the mother’s pulse, forehead and felt points in her neck. He asked some personal questions. Satisfied she was on the mend, he turned to his lover’s bundle and said, “Now, let’s have a look at you young lady.”

Laying the child on the bed, he unwrapped her swaddling clothes and felt her life-signs thoroughly. The girl could not see but was aware and voiced no complaint. Nag Kath covered her and handed her to her father who had been standing by. He seemed delighted. Pati brought the tea.

Nag Kath told them both, “I am glad we came in time. Have you thought of a name?”

Farmer Leaven looked at his wife and said, “These are Kaff and Inara. I think Inara is a fine name.” Beksa agreed with a smile and it was done.

The Princess blushed as much as an Elf can, “I am greatly honored. This was the first child I have helped into the world. Would you mind terribly if Uncle Nag and Auntie Inara come to visit her every so often? It would mean a great deal to us.” Nag Kath could not have scripted that any better. This Princess would be a force in her new form. He looked at her proudly knowing he made the right decision. They said their goodbyes and walked hand-in-hand back to the inn.

There wasn’t any reason to stay. Nag Kath had been most concerned about Mr. Cuumbs who said he was healed. Mrs. Londreg had her bottle of barley wine and the baby was fine. Nag Kath paid at the inn with a few extra coppers for Tevin and they were on their way. 

After a chaste night of letting Inariel rest, Nag Kath had some ideas for Zevalth. So did Her Ladyship.


	10. Someone for Them

**_Chapter 10_ **

**_Someone for Them_ **

The trip went as well as they could have hoped. They were attracted to each other. They weathered surprises. Each was the only one of their kind, together in the same place. Inariel had an adventurous spirit. She even liked A’mash. This could last.

But great pressures were pushed to the fore. Their lives were completely changed in a single week, bound by sorcery from a bygone age. They hardly knew each other. Nag Kath thought of Florice, also beautiful, also available through sudden circumstance. Marrying her too soon still haunted him. He would stay close to Inariel with faith things would go wonderfully. It was a question of timing.

Inariel had loved him since before she knew why. Now he was here. He saved her. He had shown great care in her arms. He was very nice, not at all the sort one thinks of as a dark servant. If half of his reputation was true, would he leave and break her heart on some great quest? There was her family too. She was not your everyday farmer’s widow.

They reached Alas Forten in mid-afternoon. Grooms stabled the horses and A’mash. Servants took their bags. The Princess followed them to her quarters and looked at herself in the dressing mirror. Miss Told knocked on the open door and entered when Inariel turned and nodded. Trying to start the most innocuous conversation, the lady’s maid said, “I hope Your Highness enjoyed your country trip.”

“Yes, thank you Miss Told.”

“Will you be needing anything ma’am?”

Inariel just looked at her reflection. Miss Told waited. The Princess turned to her long-time servant and asked, “I am sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if your Ladyship needed anything.”

Inara pleaded with her eyes, “Tell me what happened when Nag Kath came to my aid.”

That was not how Miss Told thought this would go. She said softly, “He examined you and then spoke to Dr. Tan. Dr. Kath said this might take all from him. Kneeling over you, he placed his hands on either side of your face and kissed your forehead ever so gently, almost like a prayer.”

Inariel looked at her maid in anguish, “What should I do?”

In twenty years that was the most personal thing the woman had ever asked Tirra Told. She replied, “If a prince kissed me awake from a terrible curse, I would live happily with him to the end of my days.” She realized how forward she had been and added, “Ma’am.”

Inariel stood and touched the woman’s face, also a first. “Thank you, dear heart.”

Nag Kath was nibbling Lembas on the east garden bench. The Lady of Alas Forten joined him with two mugs of tea and asked, “What happens now, Lord Kath?”

“I am not sure. The great evils are gone. I travel and heal and help. But I had given-up meeting someone like you.”

She said, “You had met me.” He was about to remind her about past recrimination when she added, “I brought you the flower.”

“Yes, yes you did.”

“Miss Told said if a prince kissed her awake from a spell, she would live with him happily for the rest of her days.” Trying to keep turmoil from her voice, “What … what do you think?”

“I think Miss Told is a very wise woman. She loves you, you know.”

Inariel said softly, “I know. Do you love me?”

He nodded, “I do.”

“We return to; what happens now?”

Nag Kath gazed at the lake, “We wait for you to fall in love with me and live happily to the end of our days." He turned back to her, "That or I have to kiss Miss Told.”

Try as she might, she could not stop the smile that became a grin. “You are terrible! And yes I do love you. Miss Told is a romantic, a reader of lore and heroes. You see, they do come true.”

“I believe so. My great, great grandson writes lore of lordly deeds. Oh … of course you know him, Prince Barahir.”

“He is kin? How?”

He matched her grin, “Remember I said I was fine step-da? Talienne is my great, great grand-daughter from Dol Amroth. I keep a home there.”

“So those absurd tales of you dashing about are true?”

“Mostly - though many were kept quiet. Your da knew a few. He was very kind to me.”

She became still, “Mother did not know what to make of you.”

The changeling said theatrically, “You hit the peg with the mallet there, Your Highness! I was told that in Elvish measure, a century is nothing to gauge someone. Legolas was the same. Now Gimli; we had roaring good times together. I miss him.”

She stood up and stamped her foot, “Nag Kath, tell me right now that you are not a dark lord or some fell creature!”

“I am not.”

She sat down again but was anxious. His ability to say nothing saved him again. The Princess announced, “Then we will marry and live happily to the end of our days.”

Nag Kath said through a mouthful of Lembas, “That went well. I suppose we should pay your brother a visit.”

“Umhmm. How well do you know the King?”

Well, I think. We rode together in Angmar, which would have seemed futile until the Witch-stone was destroyed. I like his wife very much, and I get along famously with your sister. She comes to my Syndolan parties.”

Another of Her Ladyship’s habits was drinking her tea quickly when it was the right temperature. She drained half the mug and said, “Milli is a dear woman. I know her children from the farm.”

“Lossarnach?”

“Yes, brother might be there now. It belongs to Milli and me, but one hardly throws the King out for trespassing. Let us take our leisure.” She smiled with her eyes, “I enjoyed our last trip.”

____________-------____________

They made plans to ride to Dol Amroth. For propriety, she would stay at the citadel and he would stay in town. Then they would take a ship to Pelargir and a ferry to the Rammas Dock. The horses would go too. A’mash could be spoiled here at Alas Forten until the farm manager found use for him.

Nag Kath glanced at her. The touch and gaze of Her Ladyship excited him. His now requited desire for the female Elven form had been extraordinary. He would have to banish thoughts of her mother, who would surely have gone off like a Syndolan rocket knowing her baby girl was bedding the Uruk-hai in Hobbit pants. Arwen and he had a working relationship towards the end but this was not in the mirror, or was that Inariel he saw? Inariel saw him smiling. She didn’t need to know why.

This was a state visit – no Auntie Inara seeing the sights. A troop of six, led by the Lieutenant, cut the corner along the Durnanrim River and then into Rama on the same road Nag Kath took. They stayed with regional officials all four days. Promising looks were all they exchanged on the Princess’ stately progress. The company arrived in the late morning. Inariel rode to the citadel with her escort while Nag Kath knocked on Caladrion’s door. Cal answered himself and said, “Well, come in, come in. Did you catch anything?”

“Got a little one. I quickened a broken leg, delivered a baby, healed a blood disease and got engaged.”

The retired ambassador knew the Elf generally understated things. “Engaged, eh? That was quick. Anyone I know?”

“The Princess Inariel.”

Cal shook his head, “Lovely lass. It is too early for wine, but I think a toast is in order.” He got two mugs of tea from cook and raised his.

Nag Kath told him the basics, leaving out sending the late King’s life force to the infant. There was enough sorcery already. 

Cal had met the woman several times in courtly settings. He sipped gently and recalled, “I thought she hated you.”

“Me too. She said she was crushed. I am not sure I understand that part.”

“How long will this be a secret?”

Nag Kath touched his chin and answered, “Not long. I’d like to tell the family before the shopkeepers do. She went up to the Prince’s when we rode in.”

“Come, let us visit your great, great grand-daughter. Raniece is hosting a family dinner tonight.”

Cal walked slowly but he made it the whole way. They had to wait a half bell for Rani to return from a friend’s but she gave her grandfather his hug first and then Uncle Nag. Wondering if the old man’s memory was failing she floated, “I thought we were having dinner on Wednesday.”

“Change of plans, my dear. We need to organize a fine family meal here tonight. Everyone must come. Nag Kath has an important announcement that will not wait.”

She looked at both of them, “Food?”

The Elf offered, “I will go to the Blue Crab and have them bring everything here.”

No one ever really questioned Uncle Nag but she deserved a bit more. Cal volunteered, “He is getting married. Family will learn it here or learn it from strangers.”

Raniece was fifty seven but had kept her looks and could still crack a wry smile with the best of them. She sized-up Uncle Nag, “For you, anything. Grand-da, go tell your daughter’s brood. Nag, make sure they include refreshments. I’ll have Borond issue the summons and we’ll see you here at the seven-bell.”

The Blue Crab is an expensive place. It was barely lunch but they were already busy preparing the evening meal. Nag Kath walked in and called to the owner, “Hello Mr. Sanguire.”

“Good day, Lord Kath.” 

“Mr. Sanguire, I need you to organize a full dinner for twenty people with wine and ale and cold tea tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“At seven, sir”

“That might be difficult. We …” a Florin appeared on the counter; “ … are always glad to accommodate.”

Callistra arrived by man-cart. Except for the toddlers, their entire clan was coming. One girl had to be reminded where her diamonds came from. Nag Kath was generally liked but as the generations rolled by, they were less and less sure what he did. That would get even more confusing shortly.

Just past six and a half bells, two man-carts arrived with tubs of steaming food. There was a demi-cask, a box of plates and dishes and two more with mugs and jugs. Men quickly brought them in the kitchen door, smiled, and left three of their number to serve while the others got back to the restaurant. 

Nag Kath’s old home was large and with the extension for Ranice's mother Grenda, there was plenty of room. The changeling didn’t arrive until just before seven with a lovely, well-dressed woman. He said hello to everyone and she smiled before they sat at the middle of the table.

Caladrion, as instigator, got the first word, “Dearest family, please charge your cups.” They did. “Nag Kath has something to say and wanted everyone to hear it from him first.” He looked at the guest of honor.

The Elf scanned the room and slowly said, “Thank you for coming on short notice. As Cal said, I would like to share something. I am here to introduce you to my fiancée.”

Cups were raised around the table. He added, “May I present the Princess Inariel Telcontar?”

A hundred thoughts nearly bubbled through the thick silence. Nag Kath took a sip of the pale wine and continued, “We formed an attachment after I healed her of a serious ailment. What makes this significant is that in the healing, she is now an Elf, an immortal like me.” The table was treated to a Nag-Kath grin when he added, “Cal sent me on a fishing trip and My Lady was who I caught. I did not imagine this, but there it is.”

Inariel said, “I look forward to meeting all of you privately. You are not sworn to secrecy. This will be all over the city shortly. We just wanted you to know from our lips before you heard it in gossip.”

Halita, who had watched the Elf clear her daughter Sciorcia’s stomach ailment and then turn Sciorcia’s own child with magic ventured, “Uncle Nag, what manner of healing was this?”

“Sorcery and Elvish medicine. She is half Elf and half woman. The combination was killing her. It runs in her family.”

The Princess assured them, “I am fine now.”

The changeling looked around the table. The old people were eating but the young ones were just staring. Uncle Nag insisted, “Do not let this get cold.” 

Derissa’s husband Haldaro raised the toast, “To our splendid Uncle Nag and his lovely bride!” 

_____________-------_____________

The next morning Nag Kath reserved space on a reliable ship for Pelargir leaving on tomorrow’s morning tide. They would take the Brittanal cousins as far as Pelargir and let the other four return to the farm. It was the men’s first time on the sea. That did not go well. Both were green as lennas leaves when they made port. If they didn’t have their horses to ride to Alas Forten, the Elf thought they would rather walk home than sail. 

The arrangement, unwritten but observed since before anyone could remember, was that royals or Stewards of Gondor would be protected by their own troops in Belfalas. Absent those guards, the Principality would provide escorts while in those lands. Two of the Princess’ men shadowed her on the getaway to Nargond and around the bend of the river into Lebennin. Those good men, who the new couple owed more than they could ever say, fared their charges well.

There was no provision for an escort from Pelargir and the Elves didn’t see the the need to mention their presence. Nag Kath booked adjoining rooms on the River’s Grace. The Grace was one of the newer craft with wide sails built to get upstream with the prevailing breezes. The couple spent some time in the main cabins, not drinking much, occasionally playing cards. At night, soft ripples spashing against the hull hid small noises inside.

Two nights before reaching Rammas, Inariel and Nag Kath stood by the bow as the ferry docked before dusk. The Star of Eärendil began its journey. She mused, “It is said that when you destroyed the stone, it became brighter. Perhaps he is pleased knowing we are that much further from the old evils.”

“I was not at my best. That was only a week after I started to thaw. It took nearly two years to get my wits back.” He smiled thinly, “I’ve done that twice now.”

Inara shook her head, “Ugh, bad luck!”

The changeling appraised the royal beauty gazing at the sky. “I’ve never thought so. Here I am; the last Uruk, blessed by fortune, in the company of the most exquisite lady. The pain seems a small price to pay for such beneficence.”

She hadn’t considered that before and turned to him with knitted brows. “Then I am lucky too.” She pointed at the star, “I am not so sure about grand-da. Mother said he was honored, but he sails the cold sky for all of time.”

Her healer chimed, “And his wife is a goose.”

She smiled, “Swan. Mother was cagy about those details. She was a believer in Elvish lore. Once someone’s fate is in the hands of the Valar, we must accept that their judgment considers all outcomes. We describe conditions in the only terms we can understand.”

“I’m not sure about that either. I’ve spent a deal of my life in the lands after Sauron. They have no endless honors or curses. Here-and-now was bad enough. That is why the Righters concentrate on each moment. It is all we have for happiness or redemption.”

She became thoughtful, “I wish I had met my ancestors. Come, let us go inside.” 

With low flow and a favorable wind, the boat pulled into the Rammas dock on the afternoon of the sixth day. Coins changed hands and a man-cart took her things to the palace with them riding ahead. No passwords were needed. A Lieutenant was fetched forthwith and took them to the royal apartments. She had her own suite. A lady’s maid was found. Inariel bathed and sorted through courtly garments while Nag Kath looked at pictures on the wall. One was a Lentillar. Another was one of his before he signed them. 

The moment she arrived at the seventh, an attendant was sent to tell King Eldarion his sister had returned. Now, should she do this alone or should they go together? They decided together. What could the King say? The last Eldarion heard, his baby sister was dying. Now she was here? A terrible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He waited while she made herself presentable, as their mother would have insisted.

Their liege was not expecting Nag Kath to be shown in with her and looked primarily at him as they approached. Ten feet away, the King stopped in his tracks. Not only was she not dead, she was twenty five again. As they always did, both hugged closely and he drew away for a longer look at the revived Princess. She said softly, “I have tidings, dear brother.”

Eldarion silently showed them to the same seats Aragorn always used around the low, polished table. Tea was brought instantly. The King probed, “Dear sister, I heard terrible news two weeks ago and, and now, you are returned!”

Inariel folded her hands in her lap and looked at them saying, “I was very ill and near to death. Nag Kath restored me to health using grandfather’s healing.”

The King kept looking at her face, “More than healing, sister. He has taken your cares away.”

The Princess pushed her hair past one of her ears.

Kings are taught not to leap in the air with unexpected news but this was close. He gently touched the ear as if it was a flower. Eldarion looked at the Elf and said, “I haven’t even said hello, Nag Kath. We never meet without some extraordinary tale.”

“Hello, Sire. It was a problem between the blood of men and Elves that ran in your family long ago. Spells of the wizards broke the impasse and now she is of your mother's kind.”

Eldarion clapped his hands together and said, “She was always the most Elvish of the three. I must tell Milli and Aranthal at once!”

As he rose, Inariel said, “There is something else, dearest brother. Nag Kath and I have formed an attachment.”

The King studied their faces closely. His first thought was the same as Nag Kath’s that Queen Arwen would be shouting down the Halls of Mandos. His second was the same as Nag Kath’s that there was no one more perfect for his little sister in this land where everyone else must come to grief. Chin in hand, Eldarion said gently, “Perhaps this was meant. I am happy for you.”

Nag Kath rose to shake his hand. Dinner was at seven.

The Elves retired to her quarters. He flopped in a chair saying, “Fair so far.”

“He is a good man and knows as well as any that second chances are rare. Now, have you met my nieces and nephews?”

“All of them at least once. Anthrala is a friend.”

She said practically, “I do not know who is coming. You won’t cast fire or raise demons, will you?”

“Never among my betters.”

Inariel sat in his lap, “I am sorry.” She gave him a long kiss. “Please give me time to adjust.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

___________-----___________

Princess Millicend and Lord Balthralas had planned to leave for Lossarnach in the morning but that would wait. Both of their children were present. Daughter Anthrala was there with her husband Nendalron. Milli’s unmarried son, Stephandir, came too.

Queen Aranthal brought two of their three. Prince Elhidron and his wife Lorilan came with daughter Arowyn. Princess Anairë’s husband was with his troop but she brought seven year-old daughter Gwendothal. Most of the conversation included sneaking peeks at Auntie’s ears. Since talk of sorcery was unavoidable, King Eldarion steered the flow and asked, “Nag Kath, tell us about grandfather Elrond’s teachings and cure.”

“It was from his notebook from the private collection in Dale. Accounts were thin, but those were the blood of your kin, Lord Elrond included. Radegast translated it for me. I would not have known otherwise. It was incurable then, but I used one of Gandalf’s spells to give our Lady Inariel some of my Elvish line to break the deadlock. It was still a near thing.”

Lady Gwendothal, Gwennie to family, proclaimed precociously, “There are no wizards. They all sailed away.”

He could be Uncle Nag here too, “Gandalf sailed with your great grandfather. The brown wizard Radagast became one with the forest and grows things ever on.” He left Saruman out.

Undeterred she continued, “Then why are you here?”

“I missed the boat.”

Lady Arowyn, a ladylike ten, asked, “Will Auntie have to sail away?”

Inariel answered, “I cannot say, dear child. Your granna said the Elves were called over the sea. I have not been one long enough to know, so you will see me many more times, I am sure.”

The lass smiled, glad her Inara was not ill anymore. Stephandir and Nendalron were interested in military history. Steph asked, “You rode with my Uncle in the Angmar Campaign. Can you tell me of that engagement?”

Nag Kath smiled and said, “I am afraid I can’t. I was in the advance scout troop and we were ambushed before the King’s assault.”

Eldarion didn’t think the girls needed to hear about sorcerous poxes so he added, “Nag Kath cleared the orcs away so I could ride to victory.” Prince Elhidron knew most of the story and shifted the conversation to family.

Dinner was a modest success. That Auntie was well mattered most. The older generation knew him already. The children thought her man was interesting. With no Elves, a male Elf was a man. As promised, he did not summon trolls or cause landslides. Her man walked her to her apartments and kissed her on the forehead saying, “Tomorrow, my place. The six-bell?”

“Umhumm.”

_______________-------_______________

The next morning Nag Kath walked over to Reyalder and Heuris’ home after giving them a reasonable time to rise. Rey was eighty next month and moving slowly. The Elf told them about his new lady friend. He told Fieldar the same thing. It had been forty-four years since Phylless died so in some ways this was striking. In others ways, he had done this before. It was of no matter. They would meet the lady shortly.

Two of the King’s best escorted Her Ladyship down to the fourth level on a warm autumn night. She came inside alone where dinner was waiting after cook left for home. 

Food was simple fare with fish, vegetables, grain and a pitcher of Dorwinion or cold tea. They did not say much. Nearing the end he said, “I have a special evening planned for us.”

Inariel was dubious, “With my two shadows out front?”

He grinned, “No, this is much more personal than that.” That got him an arched eyebrow that was no rival to Tal’s, but better than his.

The special evening was going through his folio, reordered this afternoon to tell his story cohesively. She had heard bits and pieces about him, almost certainly wrong, and it was time to show her what she had bitten-off. It was a test as well, one he had to pass.

They sat on the couch and he flipped pages, starting like he would with children first learning of their Uncle Nag. She saw her parents and Dornlas, the wizards and what he looked like before being captured. There were Tal and Eniece. This is Burry shouting at recruits, orcs and Elves in their forest realms, Easterling capitals. 

The Princess Inariel was nearly silent for the hour and a half it took to go through the abridged life history of her chosen man. She had absolutely no idea he had done so much, been so many places and dead at least once. He described his sorcery and Elvish healing. He told her about his many relatives from the Dale line. There were pictures of Phylless in Dol Amroth, Eniece gazing at the lake. Flor in this same room.

He closed the folio with a sigh. That was his life. Those were the things he needed her to know and could not have possibly explained. Pictures gave a living history of his impossible journey.

She was still. She was in love. Like the women who had accepted him for what he was and became, she could live with that. Inariel came hoping for intimacy. She got it. He kissed her in the entryway and nodded to the guards. 

After a few days of meeting and greeting the Conaths, the couple planned to visit Barahir and Talienne. Nag Kath preferred not having bodyguards with them. He knew they would likely be in the way during a split-second decision. Inariel was getting used to that, although she did not carry a sword like her mother when riding. In her life that had never been necessary. She asked, “Now, who is this handsome steed?”

“This is Orlon. I have had him about, mmmm, eight years now. He is one of yours as well, aren’t you, big fellow?” 

Her fiancée suggested a small detour through Osgiliath to visit the water pavilion. Pigeons had done the Dunlending no favors but he stood resolute and proud. Inariel hadn’t laughed that hard in years. On the road to Emyn Arnen was the first time they had been truly alone in a while. She asked softly, “Have you thought about children Nag?”

“I have. I could not have them with mortal women. You did not have one with a mortal man. That might change, though it could be a long time.”

She said with conviction, “I would like to have children.”

“I would like that too. Elves are supposed to know when they are ready.” He grinned, “I might not, so I will always be preparing.”

Inariel smiled too, “I am enjoying that.” Sometimes they glowed silver in the joining. Nag Kath thought there might be something to the Elvish model of perfection, but hundreds of years in-between was too long to wait.

After another hour, he said seriously, “My love, it is not my habit to give unasked advice, but I think in our lives together we should visit the Elvish places, especially Lothlórien. That is your heritage more than ever. You will have questions and may find answers.”

“I have considered that but I feel I am not quite ready. As a way to start, brother goes to Annúminas in the spring. Perhaps we should go too and see the Hobbits and Rivendell.”

Her intended said, “I told Barahir about the Hobbit book. The copy Pippin brought here was incomplete, as I remembered reading it a hundred years ago. Our Lorist Prince might like a look now that he doesn’t have to mind the store.”

She giggled, “Then let us conspire to bring him along.” 

Barahir and Talienne already knew about the romance. Raniece sent her sister a letter on the same ship Nag Kath and Inariel took. When they arrived, it was like old times. Barahir knew the Princess but had not seen her since Kolland died. Talienne knew her less owing to distance and the difference in their ages. They arrived just in time to wash for dinner.

Many times in his long life, Nag Kath had to repeat the same story several times to different people, sometimes in different languages. It usually got shorter. The Prince and Princess of Ithilien were both friends and family so they got a more detailed version. 

The next day, Nag Kath spent time with Talienne to tell her all about the family. “It seems the new generation is less leery of old Uncle Nag. I am far enough away in time that I don’t have to be a relative, just an old friend. It is better that way.”

“Your bride is lovely. I am happy for you Nag. You won’t have to leave her behind.”

He said thoughtfully, “Thank you, my dear. That weighed on me. I have not bound myself to women I would have loved.” She thought he meant Earmina. He was thinking of Grace. “Some was because I would not leave them alone on my long quests. In my secret heart, part was the pain of saying goodbye. We still face the draw of Valinor. Someday the power that remade Inariel will claim her. Then I will go too.

The heiress of Queen Nepthat added, “Setting a cat among the pigeons.”

In another part of the palace, Prince Barahir poured Princess Inariel a mug of cold tea. With streams so pure they did not have to boil water but it was a custom that brought comfort. She took it elegantly and opened with; “As you can imagine, this comes as a surprise.”

“Yes, I can imagine." He sat next to her, "You were rescued several ways.”

Inariel sipped her tea. “A curious set of coincidences, and that you should know the rascal as well.”

“That was mostly my doing. Nag Kath has been more places than anyone on earth. He reads and speaks many languages. I am just as curious, but with responsibilities at home. Your intended is a library of lore and facts.”

She brightened, “Well then, Retired Steward, my husband-to-be suggested I go north with him to the Elvish places of my ancestors. We will start by way of the Shire. He also said that since you are not staked to this place at all times, you might like to see the archives of those lovely people.”

Barahir smiled before saying, “Talienne will miss me terribly. I think I have one more adventure left.” The Prince became more serious, “Your Kingly brother is a brave man. This union is not without risk.”

“Why brave, old friend?”

“A son would be fourth in line to the throne. Nag Kath could easily destroy the others and claim the kingdom for himself. Eldarion knows that and yet gives his full blessing to your marriage. That is extraordinary faith.”

Inariel was stunned. It had never entered her mind. She countered, “That would take quite some doing, Bara.”

Barahir shook his head, “He need only clench his fist. Nag Kath is reticent, shy almost, only showing healing and tricks. But he is the most powerful necromancer alive ... and can kill with a thought. Three times he has destroyed a ruler to manipulate the succession – brought realms to their knees. And yet in Dale, he almost died to preserve the kingship of Bard against Talienne’s uncle. He protected the rule of Prince Imrahil the same way.”

The Prince looked her straight in the eye. “His instincts are pure, but you must counsel him to care for your subjects in ways second daughters are seldom asked. Be wise and strong for your people, Inariel. Place them above all else.”

The Princess sat still. Nag Kath had described most of those things but it took Barahir to give it political context. Yes, she would marry him, and she would see to her family’s realm in the doing.

Barahir talked to Talienne about joining the King’s Progress to Annúnimas. At fifty-five, the refined daughter of courtly Dol Amroth could do without another ride to Arnor and back. She understood her husband should go once more or never. Talienne would watch the children and pray for his safe return.

In the White City, Inariel had all manner of help planning the nuptials. She met the Conaths several times. This would not be a state wedding. Prince Brego of Rohan was here and would come. So would the Ithilien family, but the couple would return to Dol Amroth rather than haul everyone up here. It was a typical Nag-Kath marriage where all he had to do was be there.

He did rummage through his diamond box to find a perfect Traybor stone. Mr. Gregith was more than glad to fashion a ring with it in the center and the constellation of the eagle Soronúmë in smaller stones. He also gave the jeweler a teaspoon of diamonds to make presents for new generations, some in trade for the tiny diamond in the settings, plus a few as payment for the jeweler’s craft. Understandably, the man wanted to know if there were any more of the blue diamonds.

Nuptials were held in the reception hall on the sixth-level on November 16th. The bride looked the same as she had twenty years before. The ceremony was mercifully brief. In second (or more) weddings, the assumption is that whatever needed saying has been said. Both the royal and princely families already knew the Conaths and made them welcome. 

There weren’t many dignitaries in the city at the time but a few of them came. By no accident, Dr. Weathercraft and his wife Bheulah of the Shire were seated close to the Prince of Ithilien. Nag Kath and Barahir made a point of speaking with the Ambassador and said they hoped to see the books that had been entrusted to the Gamgee family. The Hobbit was delighted and would send a letter home without delay saying persons of the highest character were interested in their august history!

The royal sisters spoke quietly and agreed it was time. Aragorn had Eldarion go through his office before he died. Arwen’s small study was for the girls. They chose to leave it alone until the shock of her leaving passed. Then Lord Kolland died and Inariel had not been ready. 

A few days after the wedding, they entered Arwen’s room for the first time since before their father died. Most of the Queen’s jewelry and clothing had been given to heirs or the King’s Charity. What she kept here was not valuable by royal measure. One of her hair circlets was on a stand. Milli insisted that Inara take it. Arwen never kept a diary that the sisters knew of, but sometimes their mother would come here to read and contemplate. 

As they were leaving, Millicend saw a small picture hanging in the corner and asked, “Ina, do you remember this?”

It was the garden Inariel painted under the patient guidance of her future husband. Her mother treasured it all these years.

Inara could not stop crying. 


	11. Trek of Lore

**_Chapter 11_ **

**_Trek of Lore_ **

The whirlwind romance next headed back to Dol Amroth by way of Lossarnach. After Aragorn died, the sisters organized things differently. It was not the palace on a horse farm. Eldarion came often with his family but not with large convocations like the first King. The girls had their own quarters in the royal wing with a larger guest section for their brother’s needs. Neither Princess was involved in raising horses. They liked them and were good riders, but they left the farm management to folk who were always there. 

The immortals arrived with a modest enough escort that the gate guards slowed them to be sure they weren’t interlopers. Gracious smiles forgave sincere apologies and they rode to the main hall. The four outriders found their bunks as the majordomo gave the wink that everyone inside was on duty double-quick. There were about a dozen other guests invited by palace ministers to discuss their portfolios. Those folks were instantly notified too. The presence of the Princess made this all the more impressive.

Now at the end of the breeding season, Stallions and this year’s mares were looking for opportunities. They were kept on different ends of the facility for obvious reasons until meeting in the middle. This was the time for workers to be especially carefully about getting kicked or bitten in the cause of love.

The farm made money. It might have made a lot but a goodly number of the horses were supplied to the army at no charge. The girls thought that was part of their service to the crown and paid it no mind. Nag Kath and Inariel walked to one of the center corrals where yearlings were frolicking before halter training. Bigger youngsters comfortable being near each other usually became cavalry mounts.

They reached the archery range and Nag Kath strung his bow. Sighting down a handful of target arrows he mumbled, “Sometimes they warp with weather.” Satisfied, he told his wife, “This is the site of my second most famous archery fraud.” He described the convoluted bet and game he was roped into when Prince Elboron met him on this very road. 

Inariel watched him limber a minute and slowly nock and pull at the faded target. Each arrow kept getting closer to the center. Then he startled her by putting four more in the red faster than she could see him nock and draw. It was a blur even to her Elf eyes. Aiming much further into the forest, he put a war arrow in the center of a tree. 

As they walked out to collect the target arrows, she said as if a question, “You have shot like that before.”

“At need." A long pause, "Did you know Talienne is the great, umm, four times great grand-daughter of Bard the Bowman? Now, that was a shot. Every young archer imagines a terrible fire-drake swooping in for the kill and having to launch the perfect last arrow. Most of the time, they miss and relive it again. Lately I teach children to shoot with padded arrows so they can imagine their own dragons.”

“Are there any dragons left, Nag Kath?”

“There are always dragons, my love.”

Their escort was dismissed and they took the fair, dry road to Pelargir. He found comfort visiting Phyll and Helien. Her husband showed her where the trolls emerged. By chance, they were strolling along the market and saw Athmandal. Nag Kath would not have recognized him but the former deck-hand had no trouble spotting the tall Elf. It would not do until Nag and Inara joined him for ale at the Tender Mercy. Dal had done well for himself. 

“I tell you, sir, didn’t expect to see you again.”

“It was a near thing, Dal. May I present my wife Inara.” Nag Kath was distracted watching the Lady Princess try to drink beer in a bar full of leering sailors. She used her stare and held her own! Staring was less common now. Elf eyes cured her weak long-range vision. 

“A pleasure, ma’am. Trade with the Numenoreans is brisk after a bit of a lull. They never leave their bay, but ships from here and Umbar ply the coast from April to October.”

“What of Capt’n?

Dal searched his memory, “I haven’t seen him in ten years, at least. Even then he never sailed again, like the great mariner of Mardruak! Oh, the Peristonig brothers own half of Harondor – stranglehold on worm-wool to the gentry!”

“Good lads! They got over their little, uhm, awkwardness with Umbar?”

“T'was a tempest in a trough. Their da took the night-ship after some petty theft – made more of it than it was. Nobody there ever heard of the brothers. They live in Gobel Mírlond on the Harnen mouth. Nice little port. I’ve never been but I saw Udan here was it three, no four years ago. Looks the same.”

Inariel relaxed and they had two rounds reliving the great adventure before parting. They stayed in his favorite inn for two nights waiting for a deep-hull ship to Dol Amroth that could take horses. 

____________------____________

The family was waiting. The wedding ceremony here was taking over the Blue Crab for the night and a more lordly reception in the citadel. At the latter, Inariel did not see her former father-in-law Lord Kolland or his wife. She told Nag Kath that they had been very kind to her. Inariel wanted to visit them now that she had leisure. 

That raised the question of her life-estate in Alas Forten. Lord Kolland senior was the second son of Prince Alphros. That made his three sons lords as well but not the next generation. Nag Kath, who knew a thing or two about property, asked who was paying the upkeep. Inariel did not know. She was a Princess of the realm. Someone else did that.

He asked, “Do you love Alas Forten?”

“Oh yes. It is my home and was my peace when I needed it.”

Her new husband offered, “I should think that is a strain on the Kollands. He went from a week away from having the place back to supporting a Princess daughter. What do you suppose Alas is worth?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

I imagine it would bring fifty Florin. Let me buy it for you as a wedding present and help your old father-in-law, who is a sight better than my old da.”

Inariel nodded. She had never once considered that Lord Kolland was still paying the bills. She did know what money was and wondered, “Nag, darling, isn’t that quite a lot?”

“I’m rich.”

“Oh.”

Nag Kath was comfortable, but this was the first time in a long life that he would be a landowner - more accurately; the husband of a landowner. He had rental properties but couldn't identify half of them. But Alas Forten was only about three-hundred acres - more a luxurious gentleman's hideaway than serious landholdings. There were regional lordlings all over Middle-earth with thousands. Some of those families were noble. Some were becoming noble. 

Nag Kath wrote a note to his Lordship requesting an audience on a subject of mutual benefit. Everyone knew who the Elf was now and His Lordship remembered meeting him a few years back. A lunch was arranged a day later at Kolland’s residence in the palace.

Nag Kath was shown into the main room where the man was looking out a window onto the pasture. The Elf bowed and waited. Kolland walked over to shake hands and showed him to one of two chairs at a small table. Tea was served.

The stately Dúnedain said, “Congratulations on your marriage, Lord Kath. I am sorry we didn’t get to keep her longer.” 

“Thank you, sir. I will care for her.”

“Please do. Now, what can I do for you?”

Nag Kath said kindly, “Without putting too fine a point on it, it seems unfair to us that your family has to maintain Lady Inariel’s immortal estate. I thought a private offer to purchase the farm might be in your interest.”

Kolland and his wife would live their lives comfortably but he had two sons left and a dowry to fund for a grandchild. He let the tall man continue, “I thought a cash payment of fifty Florin would serve the case. Another possibility would be … ”

The Elf took a small blue bag of worm-wool from his pocket and placed the contents on one side. “… These are Elvish diamonds, flawless in every way. This is about twenty Florin worth if you are careful and sell them through a discreet jeweler I can recommend. Let us price them at half that and another forty Florin in gold. That gives you room to care for your family with a little extra for your patience.”

Oh, would it ever! The Princess could stay there just as she would have without scandal. He could secure his legacy and those sparklers would be just the thing for a spinster grand-daughter needing a husband. It was all so discreet. He was tempted to look at the stones with his fire-glass, but even if they were bilge gravel, forty dented kings would meet the case. It was a lordly offer and the only one he would get. Kolland was a son of a Prince and wanted that to still count for something with all his heart.

Lord Kolland agreed, “That is more than fair, Lord Kath. I can have the papers prepared in two days. Who should I have made as the buyer?" 

The Elf told the relieved Lord of Galador, and the higher designation of Lord Defender of the Prince, "Her Ladyship."

Lord Kolland brightened, “Why don’t you bring my daughter-in-law here for lunch two days hence so we can see her again after so long away.”

Lady Kolland was a dear, scatty soul who paid little attention to the financial affairs of the Principality. The woman maintained their home in keeping with their station, settled family disputes and did as she had been trained. Her Ladyship did not know that her husband’s share of the Privy Purse had not risen in eight years, or that Alas Forten lost money maintaining idle nobility. Their second son had expensive tastes. The woman did know she liked the Princess Inariel very much and was ever so glad that her sadness was past.

At lunch they talked about the farm and Dol Amroth and who was who in the closed community. Cal's brood was well-known to them. It was good for the Kollands to see her and they would again. Inariel gave Lord Kolland a small, heavy wooden box with a few of their son’s things. 

After seeing family and friends, they rode to Alas Forten in the first week of December. Everyone was glad she was back. The Princess told them the financial arrangements were different but that all positions were secure. About a third of the farmland was leased and the rest was managed by employees. Nothing changed there. They would not need Belfalas soldiers. All were offered continued private employment. Three of the six, all newer men, took a cash bonus to return to the capital and remain soldiers of the crown. The older hands stayed on privately. In view of immortal employers, Dr. Tan-Kolvas said he was ready to retire and got a lovely little home in town.

Nag Kath had never been a farmer until the Lake Nennûrad retreat. Now he knew enough to be dangerous so he asked questions of his new employees but never gave advice, except to build a sluice gate on one of the irrigation ditches. That wasn’t something lords generally did. Another thing that got him a few glances was bringing a small bag of dirt with him. The orchardist was to plant seeds of the Coloma division fruit from Ithilien in handfuls of that soil. It looked the same as the good loam of Alas Forten but the blonde man was the Lord and lords make the rules.

Miss Told was in heaven. Her Ina was back with her handsome husband and they would live forever. There had not been time in his first stay but he told her many stores of old lore from Elves and Easterlings and men of the north. Those were for his wife’s benefit too since they were almost always new. Sometimes he would draw pictures for them, seeming to remember as if he was just there. 

Lady’s maid Miss Told and chambermaid Amalie were in an odd position. Generally, a Princess would travel with both and probably several more personal staff. This Princess rode a horse with no troopers or carriage or servants. Inariel made it clear that they were to serve in their usual capacity when she was there and make themselves useful when she wasn’t. Slightly out of school, Miss Told intimated that Amalie and the farm manager’s elder son were forming an attachment. Chambermaids were to be maidens. It was training for the house and training to be a good wife, but when they married, they left. With the unconventional situation, Her Ladyship said they could make an exception in the young woman’s case.

Winters are mild in the Belfalas valleys. The newlyweds stayed close to home, riding often, and taking long walks. In March they said goodbye and rode back to Dol Amroth before the trip to Minas Tirith and beyond.

________________------_______________

It would be spring soon. Nag Kath and Inariel sailed around the cape and up the river in plenty of time to prepare for the trip north. Aragorn had purposely made Eldarion of Arnor. There was no way of keeping Arnor part of the Reunited Kingdom unless they agreed. Choosing Queen Aranthal was not planned, but since the heir spent so much time in Annúminas, it increased the chances he would meet and marry a woman of that land. Prince Elhidron would remain as Steward for the first time and probably represent the empire himself next year. Barahir had been on this trip with Aragorn twice and knew what it took. The Prince’s second secretary, a man who could ride in the wilds, was coming for any correspondence needed.

Kings make royal stops along the way. Nag Kath had usually been on the periphery of past trips with more freedom to eat with friends and skirt dull meetings. That would be harder now. They traveled with an escort of sixty White City troopers and ten of Barahir’s plus servants, administrators and people to erect tents and put food in them, in all about a hundred souls. Eldarion did not drive as hard as his father when Queen Aranthal and her ladies were along. This was also time spent between the King and his Lady Sister. With forty years between them, they loved each other but were never kids together. There was healing in that. 

The realm was also long past remnant gangs of defeated enemies. Guards payed attention, but their main job was to keep gawking townsfolk from being trampled. A van was always one or two days ahead securing lodgings and fresh food in lieu of what they carried.

The first stop was Edoras. King Halath was glad to see them. He was glad of Nag Kath too. It had been thirty-seven years since the Elf presented him with Altheras’ sword and he remembered it like yesterday. Inariel hadn’t heard about that either but she did remember him telling her how proud he was receiving it. The Elf did not keep track of possessions any better than royals. 

After dining and ale for several days, the company made for the Glittering Caves. They were now under Lord Dendror of Erebor so this was diplomacy with the northern kingdom. Engineer Thurgin was still in residence and they slipped away with the Princess to relive the days of the Gimli Cascade. The caves had been excellent mines for silver and jewels but only held frustrating traces of mithril. Khazad Dûm had never been reopened. The Dwarvish engineer confidentially admitted that the drive in Durin’s folk for new territory had seen its height when the rings existed. Orcs, possibly balrogs, were still believed in those pits, and no one near the Raven Crown of Erebor wanted to risk an expedition-in-force.

From there they made for the Gap after meeting with the Marshal of Orthanc at the town on the Gap Road. It was a genuine town now on this side of the bridge. Still in Rohan, both sides used it for meetings like this. Nag Kath asked if any more of Gandalf’s powders had been found in the store house. Not than anybody noticed.

Dunland had a few more people too, but not a lot. Trum Dreng was still lovely. The company stayed there for the evening meal and Nag Kath showed his bride where history was made. There was no sense of foreboding in the Mournshaws. He did not try to summon the Wild Huntsman. Tharbad had not had a truly destructive flood in thirty years. While there, Eldarion asked Nag Kath to consider a new kind of bridge that might last. The ferries were much larger and more stable than the rickety barges back in the day, but it still left cavalry vulnerable. 

From there it was straight to the Shire. They crossed the bridge Nag Kath designed on his first trip here. As protocol demanded, The King applied for, and was immediately granted, permission to enter the independent lands of the little people. Nag Kath loved Hobbits. He did not know any of them here but knew Ambassador Weathercraft had written saying there was scholarly interest in the Red Book of Westmarch. With a wink and a nod, the King asked to stay a few days longer than usual to let his ‘scholars’ research family lore.

Peregrin Took brought Aragorn (Strider after a few ales) a copy when the Hobbit came to live in Minas Tirith, but it was incomplete as Nag Kath remembered it, particularly the illustrations. They were hoping that heirs of the Gamgees would have the original or bits and pieces to complete it. Peregrin himself had never written in the document. Now sixty years or more since Sam was said to have given the book to his daughter, they would be looking for grand or great grandchildren. If there were ever folk to keep things for no particular reason, it was Hobbits. They were also the least likely to remember where they were.

The first order of business was a great meal just like the one Nag Kath attended in Forth Age 30. It even looked like the same tent. As honorees, and as the last two traveling Elves, it was easy to ask innocent questions about the original Fellowship families. The late Elanor the Fair was Samwise’s oldest child and said to have received the book when her father reportedly sailed to Elvish lands. She was also a maid of Honor to Arwen, whose daughter just happened to be here.

All that was toast-worthy, but no one here knew who had inherited the book from her. Gamgee daughters married high and low among these people so it was hard to be sure who went where. Their break came a day later when an elderly woman came forward. She was grand-daughter to Sam’s daughter Daisy. 

She said she had seen the book, by then turned rust brown. It was in the custody of the Fairbairns. A member of that family was already among the invitees and more than happy to meet with the Princess Elf, her husband and the heir of Faramir! The next day he took them to another relative who had the middle of three original books, the one least represented in Thain Took’s compilation. Barahir had his secretary and tall, blonde friend furiously copy it over the next day while he attended lordly functions with the elegant lady Elf. Poor Mrs. Fairbairns was not sure where the other books were but would ask among the family. With aching hands, the scribes made the farewell dinner to wish their hosts long and splendid lives.

_______________-------______________

Riding into Annúminas brought back memories. From here it was a hard ride to the Angmar crescent or the low pass where the advance party cut the corner through the orcs. The southern orcs were still there. No one was sure about the northern band. When cajoled, Nag Kath told the roasted pig story, the last, he hoped. 

Eldarion continued his father’s restoration of the ancient city. It, Thân zîrân and Nennûrad all had that quality of a deep blue lake with mountains on one side bringing a sense of calm. The King’s business was to let his northern subjects know they were important and had a voice in council. His sister was here for the first time since she was twenty, adding weight to the bond.

On the trip, Barahir spent quite a bit of time with the Kaths. Hearing them talk about Rivendell, he asked if he could travel with them. He might not be able to penetrate any wards, but he would rather be denied than wish he hadn’t tried. They agreed. The King agreed. The ‘scholars’ stayed in the summer capital until a month before the King intended to return to the White City. Barahir kept six troopers and left the others and his staff to travel with the King. If their timing was good, the parties would rejoin near Tharbad. 

Nag Kath walked the streets of Fornost remembering not remembering. Bree was still a bit seedy but the food was good and the soldiers could bunk in real beds. Rivendell was a hundred leagues due east. The Great Road was busy with merchants finishing their season but they made way for the armed company. Nag Kath showed them Bilbo’s trolls, about the same size as the ones in Pelargir.

When they reached the path to Rivendell, the troopers did not like letting their Prince travel on alone but made a camp along the main road while the two Elves and Barahir approached the hidden entrance. Nothing had changed. Rocks meant to fool had to be ignored every time. They rounded the corner and beheld the Imladris Valley in all its autumn splendor.

Inariel would have to hope her horse watched his feet because she could only marvel at her grandfather’s home. Streams were everywhere. Nag Kath led sure-footed Orlon on foot to make sure that the thin rock bridges had not weathered to thin. Barahir was amazed as well. Over the second bridge the Prince felt resistance, almost like wind. Between the Elves it passed quickly. Wards were dissipating – but it was a long way down.

They made their way slowly to the main entrance and tied the horses to the carved columns. Nag Kath showed them the way up. A small breeze blew falling leaves in swirls around the outer deck and into the library. It all seemed older, somehow wilder, than when Nag Kath was here last. He showed the Prince a few volumes of interest but mostly watched for keepers. Inariel saw one first. Unlike Orc Six, she felt him coming and watched him approach.’

“Hmmm, haven’t seen you before.”

She said, “No, good sir. This is my first visit here.”

Nag Kath heard them speaking and walked around the bookcase to say, “Good day, Mr. Fencïl. I hope you are well.”

“Hughmmm. Well enough.”

“May I present my wife the Lady Inariel? She is the grand-daughter of Lord Elrond.”

“Hughmmm, there is another.”

Nag Kath said, “Yes, let me just get him.” He walked back around the bookcase and whispered, “Bara, company.”

The Prince closed the book and accompanied the Elf around to the other side of the library. Nag Kath said, “Mr. Fencïl, this is Prince Barahir, grandson of Faramir.”

“Hughmmm, haven’t seen you before either.”

The Prince said in Sindarin, “It is a pleasure to meet you sir. I am keen on the study of lore.”

The keeper seemed to have no trouble with a man being here. Perhaps it was because he was accompanied by Elves, the only two Elves that had been here in generations of men. The keeper mulled that over for a minute and mumbled, “Well, we have plenty of lore here.”

Inariel was fascinated. Despite her extraordinary lineage, she had only met men, Dwarves and Hobbits, none of them magical. Here was a creature not of those lines, one created by the Valar, she supposed, for a unique purpose. She asked him almost reverentially, “Mr. Fencïl, did you know my mother Arwen?”

The keepers were always gruff with men but with a Quenda, Fencïl was more deferential, “No, I did not. She was only here when there were many Elves. We come after they leave, or are almost gone. I met your great-grandfather Celeborn when he stayed with your uncles, among the last to leave on the large Swan Ships, they were.”

The Princess clapped her hands together and said, “I do hope you will tell me all about them. I was born well after they left.”

Mr. Fencïl looked at Nag Kath with his usual grouchiness, “Will you be staying for a while, Orc Six?”

“Two days. There are others waiting for us and we did not want to impose.”

“Hughmmm, very well. I will tell Mrs. Fencïl that you will be staying for dinner. I will look after your horses.”

The keeper turned and strode away on his grasshopper legs. After a minute, Nag Kath said, “I’ll help him and let you look through the volumes. Just remember, everything has to stay here. Be back before long.” He skipped down the steps caught Mr. Fencïl on the second flight. 

Barahir went back to his books while the Princess walked over to the window and looked at the same view her mother saw for thousands of years, the same view her father saw as a child, then leading the Fellowship and after the war. Nag Kath had summarized these volumes thoroughly over the years so the Prince joined Inariel by the window. If he wanted to tell the story of her parents, he had but to follow her eyes.

Nag Kath was back half a bell later with straw on his pants and asked, “My dear, how do you feel? You are new to Elvendom.”

“Fine, husband. I hear voices in my head, perhaps voices of those who left.”

Barahir said, “There have been a few.”

Nag Kath said, “The real lesson is dinner. Come, let us join our hosts for storytelling.”

It was just the three of them with Mr. and Mrs. Fencïl. The keeper had a sip of his tea and made a face, “Orc Six, the last time you were here you were dead. That seems to have improved.”

“One can hope. I went to healing places in the east to regain my strength. Then I returned and was reacquainted with Lady Inariel.”

Mrs. Fencïl was very curious about the beautiful child She-Elf and asked, “How is it that you did not go with your kin, young lady?”

The Princess said demurely, “I was afflicted with a blood disorder only a year ago and was made Elf by it.”

The keeper said, “Hughmmf, that ran in your family. Do the Undying Lands call to you?”

“Not yet, sir.”

Mrs. Fencïl looked at the Prince saying, “We haven’t seen many men.”

Mr. Fencïl corrected, “We haven’t seen any.”

She said sweetly, “Well, none is few enough. You are interested in lore?”

“Indeed. My father and his before studied the history of our lands.”

The keeper said, “Hughmmmph. You felt the wards?”

The Prince admitted, “I felt something, a breeze without wind.”

Fencïl chortled, “Her great-grandmother’s doing. You are safe among your friends. Stay between them when you leave. Well, we are done with dinner. Orc Six, would you like to lead us in a story?”

“Why not? I have a new one.” He told the story of the last of the army of the dead and building the bridge to join the sundered town. With embellishments and a flair for drama learned here, it was a crafted little yarn. Women were not expected to join so Barahir told a story of his grandfather finding the Hobbits and Gollum. He told it well and was surprised at how much he enjoyed reciting in classical Sindarin.

The keeper said, “Well, I suppose it is my turn. What would you like to hear?”

As planned, Inariel replied sweetly, “I am a descendant of Lúthien. I should like to hear that tale, Master Keeper.”

Mrs. Fencïl added joyfully, “We have not heard that in some time.”

“Hughmphh, very well …” He told his version of the great tale. It was on the long side. Keepers use the poetic style of repeating familiar verses to keep the audience awake and remember the progression. When he was done, everyone congratulated him on a splendid telling. It was time for bed. Nag Kath watched his wife sleep all night. 

The next day Barahir continued scrolling through the books. Inariel spent most of the day exploring Rivendell with Nag Kath or Mrs. Fencïl. Nearing dusk she sat alone at her grandmother Gilraen’s resting place. She didn’t cry, just looked at the statue and kept her thoughts to herself. The changeling reread some of the Quenya looking for similarities to the troll pages. After dinner that night, Nag Kath told the story of the little fire-drake. All wondered if it might still be looking for its home. 

Barahir had a short tale about the Elf community in Emyn Arnen. Fencïl had a yarn from the Years of Trees, which seemed impossibly long ago. The Keeper was not quite six thousand years old so that was well before his time. To Mrs. Fencïl’s pretended shock and secret delight, Inariel shared a story her mother told her about the Council of Elrond just fifty paces from where they were sitting. She later admitted she did not remember it well but it was good to give it life.

Fencïl cocked his head sideways. Keepers kept the spirit of place. Lore was incidental. There was no true ancient Elvish lore here. The Elves never told men of their bloody years and men seldom wrote theirs down. Then the Elves left with three ages of Middle-earth archives. The keeper gave as close as his face could to a smile and said to Barahir, “Soon it will be your turn to remember.” 

They planned to leave early. The soldiers would be getting nervous and should not try to cross that second bridge. The three had porridge and accepted some genuine Lembas for their trip. When the Prince and Princess went down to get the horses, Nag Kath said to the keeper, “I almost forgot. There is another thing I would like you to see. I got this in Lamedon recently. Have you seen its like?”

Fencïl sat down and looked very closely at a sample troll page, finally saying, “This is from the earliest days of the Elves. I cannot read it, I only know of it. It was a voice to speak to the First Born. This is old, Orc Six, very old.”

Nag Kath did not want to leave the others waiting so he said, “Are there those of you who can read this?”

The keeper said humbly, “I do not think so. Even Logass came well after this tongue was tried and discarded.”

They heard feet coming up the stairs. The Elf said, “Bless you and Mrs. Fencïl. I will try to find more stories for next time.” He slid the page into his satchel.

The troopers were glad to see their lord safe and pleased. From there they forded the Bruinen and followed the same trail Nag Kath used on his first trip to Dale. It put them in Tharbad a week ahead of the King.


	12. South by East

**_Chapter 12_ **

**_South by East_ **

In the best of worlds, the royal newlyweds would not have camped in fields and forests but Nag Kath thought, and Inariel agreed, that she needed to see Elvish places. Arwen had visited them early as Queen, but by the time Inara was old enough to travel, her father traveled less.

The trip brought their family closer. Each child was twenty years apart. Back in the White City, Inariel spent much more time with the King and elder Princess when Nag Kath visited his usual haunts. They stayed in Emyn Arnen for a week of mild winter. Barahir tried to spend a bell a day writing lore but with the Kath’s in residence, that was lore too.

In Minas Tirith they split time between his home and her apartments on the seventh. Nag Kath kept a small assortment of lordly garments ‘upstairs’ since that was where he needed them. As a rule, they did not use bodyguards when they were alone. The Princess discovered why. 

Lasthlo Conath invited the Kath’s to join him at a respectable fourth-level restaurant meeting his sweetheart. Her name was Annalien Kobalth and her da was in the canvas business. Annalien was allowed out on the understanding that Lasthlo’s Aunt and Uncle would be with them as chaperones. They met at the Silver Ladle for lunch with Inariel as Inara so as not to overwhelm young Anna.

Business owners on the middle-levels like the public to think that boisterous patrons are confined to the first and second levels. But we all know that even well-dressed citizens can drink a skin-full and start trouble. Five traders at a table in the center of the room started arguing, something about the quality of a delivery. Two men stood and one pushed the other. The pushed man threw a punch, missed his target and hit a third on the ear. From there it was a melee.

Patrons fled out or to the edges of the room. When one of the belligerents stumbled towards the Kath’s corner table, Lasthlo, who hailed from the big Northman side of the family, grabbed a chair to defend his lady. The man coming at him growled, “I’ll settle with you later, boy!”

Nag Kath rose as well and the lout smirked, “I’ll thrash you now pretty-thing!”

Most of the people left in the room were watching the main fight but a few saw the aggressor suddenly fly up as if on a springboard and knock his head on a beam before falling face-first on the floor. The other four heard him hit the planks and decided their differences weren’t so great that they could let a pair of greenbottoms trounce one of their own. As they approached, a beam of yellow hit their faces, stopping them in mid-step. Nag Kath walked to them and said softly in a voice that still permeated the pub, “Take your friend and go home. You will decide you do not like coming here.”

The four looked around the room as if waking in a strange place. Then they hauled the downed man to his feet and staggered out the door. Nag Kath put a silver on the table and said, “Miss Kobalth, I think we should take you home.” 

Lasthlo slipped out first to make sure the five weren’t lurking and then the group made their way to Annalien's house, only a block from Nag Kath’s. Lasthlo walked her to the door. She smiled, seemingly none the worse for the experience, and her parents were glad she was home with her chaperones standing in the switchback. The young Northman rejoined them and chuckled, “Nag, you are the man to have in a scrap.”

Uncle Nag counseled, “No need to mention this to your mum, eh?”

Lasthlo laid his finger alongside his nose and walked home.

In the five minute walk back to Nag Kath’s house, Inariel did not say a word. She was upset. In the whole trip north, the only magic her husband showed was testing water. She knew he had great healing powers but this was the sudden violence Barahir said he wielded – reticently, but deadly nonetheless. Somehow it had seemed so remote, as if of another age. It was.

Nag Kath hung her cloak and joined her on the couch. She sat with knees together and hands clinched in her lap. Her face was ghostly white. After a minute she said, “Nag, I am frightened.”

He mistook her concern, “It was just a bar fight, my love.”

“Will those men be well?”

“The four will be groggy with a headache. The one, I am not sure. He was breathing when they took him out. I would not have hurt him but he carried a boot-knife, very handy for throwing; boot-knives.”

Still trembling Inariel asked, “What did you do?”

“A bringing spell on the one. I used a confusion spell on the others. That is a quick copy of one witches use to make people do their bidding, like my bag in Nargond. You know the counter-spell for clarity.”

The Princess was breathing again but Prince Barahir’s admonition still rang in her ears. More composed she said, “Your friend Athmandal in Pelargir said you sent flames across the sea to burn a boat.”

Against the gravity of the situation, Nag Kath chuckled, “Not one of my better efforts. It only works on water. Gandalf was the master of fire. Saruman was said to draw his power through air. Radagast was of earth and told me I got my power through water, the female element.”

Inariel said very slowly, “Fe … male?”

“Aye. Healers and witches pull from water, often in themselves. That is why their craft is so hard on them. I get my power from water too. 

That did not relieve her anxiety so she composed herself and asked gravely, “What about the arrows?”

“That is ‘the fast’. At need I can move so quickly that it seems a blur. It only lasts a moment but I can do quite a bit. That is not a spell. The wizards thought it came from Saruman. I saw Thranduil do the same and your great granna was said to move in a blink.”

The Princess wrung her hands. She had to say this now and did not want to. They were so happy together. “You could have hurt them all?”

“Everyone in the room.”

She stammered, “Everyone anywhere?”

He finally saw where this was leading, “Quite a few. I would …”

She interrupted, “My love, would you use these powers to take lordship?”

He shook his head and said, “No. Good rulers give of themselves. Bad ones draw to themselves. You must not worry, my dear. These are all questions I have asked and answered many times.”

That did not help. Inariel turned to look him in the eye and got down to cases, “But you have killed rulers and their armies. Is my family safe?! I must know or go mad.”

Nag Kath put his arm around her shoulder. “Yes, yes I have. They were using the last dark craft of the enemy. I hope they are gone. I am looking forward to long peaceful years with my Lady Wife.” He had trouble with an association that made him smile.

“Oh no you don’t! You must tell me!”

“If you insist.”

She said firmly, “I do.”

“I was attacked by a Hourn-tree. They don’t fear water. When I got away, I practiced the fire spell on dry land. All I did was burn a stripe in the grass that smelled like men drinking ale and eating pickled cabbage.”

She almost giggled but gave him the famous stare, “How can you treat this so lightly?!”

Her changeling became quite serious and touched her face gently, “How can I do otherwise? This is my life. I am a warrior in disguise. I held the Witch-stone in my hand, the Dwarf ring too – the mithril. I had but to keep them. Like your father, I did not. That was my test.” He added softly, “There will be others.”

Inariel relented and put her head on his shoulder. They sat for a while when a little voice murmured, “I had to know, even if you would not love me.”

He pulled her close and did not speak.

_____________-------_____________

Inariel became more Elvish and less Princess quickly. In a royal family, proximity to the crown informs all. She was no longer part of the succession. She was immortal. There were already two grandsons of Aragorn. She was not the dowager Lady in her haven either. Knowing the man she loved was not a monster completed the freedom she had never felt before. 

Her man cared for her and held her and did little things women like; warm things, tender things, passionate things. He took her to a fifth-level dancing club. She wore a veil like other ladies who did not want to be recognized. They watched an experienced couple moving closely together in rhythm to soft music. Inariel had danced in classical pageants as a child but this; this was, well, she wasn’t sure what this was. Back at his house, they swayed to him humming. It would have been impossible before.

After saying goodbyes, they took the Grandeur to Pelargir for a few days and then Ülmo’s Grace around the cape. April weather worked against them. The Grace was new and large but Nag Kath had never seen swells like this coming off the Belegaer, even on his long voyage. In a two day storm, they lost a crewman overboard and limped into the Commercial Harbor with only one good mast.

Cal was sitting on his porch watching the ships come in and out. He could no longer see which ones but could tell the type by the outline. Nag Kath and Inariel were expected about now and they walked up to greet him. He did not rise. Nag Kath asked, “Hello Cal. Is Callistra inside?”

Caladrion Ivandred sipped his tea for a long moment and answered, “Sorry, Nag, Inara. You missed her. She faded away two weeks ago. You probably passed the letter in the Ethir. Made it to 86, my girl.”

The Kath’s dropped their bags on the planks and sat silently. Cal was 112 last month and had now outlived both children. The man rocked back and forth, gently cradling his tea mug. Inara said, “I’m so sorry, Cal. How are you bearing-up?”

“I am fine. We knew it was coming. The place is lonely. I am glad you are back.”

Inariel knew Callistra better than any of the family besides Cal. Always with the best Nag Kath stories, she was an energetic woman with a warm sense of humor, very much in the Talereth mold of matchmaker and homemaker. Calli raised lovely children. The Elf remembered her and her brother trying to catch the orange cat.

Caladrion continued, “You must have caught that storm at the shoals.”

The Elf broke from remembrance and said grimly, “Straight-on. Lost a man and two masts.”

Cal sipped and spoke, “The Belegaer Maiden is three days late. Did you see her?”

“No, just us and a harrier going the other way. Maybe they had time to lay-up.”

Sailors say a silent prayer for every ship that doesn’t come home. It is always a danger and keeps anyone from taking the sea lightly.

Inariel needed to say something, “Cal, what can we do?”

“First, have Mrs. Ubould get you some tea and have her bring me another. I can’t supervise all these ships otherwise.” The old man forced himself to smile as the Princess went inside. Mrs. Ubould was always a bit flustered when royalty came into her kitchen. Cook brought tea out for the men and the Princess got her own.

With a fresh mug, Caladrion continued, “Everyone else is fine. No new grandkids since you left. Inara, I ran into Lord Kolland last month, no, two months ago and gave him your best. That was a very nice thing you did for him.”

She knew it was her husband but thanked Cal on both of their behalves. Looking out over the harbor the retired Minister asked, “Are you here for a while?”

Inariel took that one; “Through the summer, then over to Alas Forten for harvest and winter.”

“Good. Nag, it must be hard to keep track of so many families.”

“I am down to two now, not including in-laws. Rey and Heuris Conath are not well. The rest are fine. I think one of their grandsons is going to pop the question shortly. Nice girl. We will let your youngsters know we are back.”

Cal smiled, “Do that. I suppose we will need to get you tickets for the season. They are not as hard to come by as they were when you built your ship. Young people like plays and sporting competitions now.”

______________-------______________

The Libron family was getting back to normal. As Cal said, they had time to prepare and mother was sharp until the end. Again, the Dúnedain touch was fickle. Caladrion looked as old as his children had. Inariel knew better than anyone that a very long life meant a long old age. King Elessar had been in a wheeled-chair for six years. She imagined Nag Kath with Phylless in her eighties. He would have seemed younger, but only on the outside. 

They had dinner at Raniece’s two nights later. The Ivandreds were getting used to the idea that the strange Uncle Nag was peripheral royalty. The Kath’s also paid their respects to the Prince who did not insist they stay at the citadel. Armandor was getting used to the idea that she was more Elf than Princess now, and Inariel had never spoken for the crown. Like Lasthlo, the ruling family knew her Elf could handle himself in a scrap.

Nag Kath took Inara fishing on his two-person boat. She was a fair sailor but hated handling fish. Bait was worse Her Ladyship washed her hands with harsh soap until the smell was completely gone. After two attempts, she helmed the tiller and he caught the dinner.

Thankfully, they left their horses in Minas Tirith. They would have been thrashed in their stalls unless tied and roped all different ways. The couple would get new mounts when they needed them for the trip to Alas Forten. Finding more horses for the Lady of Lossarnach was not hard, even here. Inariel took time to sit with some of the younger Ivandred lasses in their reading class. With such a large gap between Eldarion, Millicend and Inariel, the royal children did not study together. Arwen taught her many things and the Princess had tutors, sometimes sitting with other ranking children. Reading in a group was different. She liked it and wished she had done it more in her formative years. 

Much of the time they spent with Cal. He still walked on clear days where it was flat. Hills were trouble. He could make it to the music pavilion but not back. This year’s season would open with an old favorite, ‘She Told You So’. It sounded like a scold but was a sweet story about young love without the usual incompetent villains. Extra choristers in the wings were made to sound like instruments. Caladrion enjoyed himself, had a goblet of pale wine at the Lion and took a man-cart back home with Nag Kath and Inariel walking alongside. By discreet prior arrangement, two of the Prince’s personal guardi in civilian clothes were posted several rows further back to keep an eye on the brunette in the Ivandred box.

There were only six shows this season with gaps for newer plays that had no singing. Cal said younger people liked them, but to him, that was anyone under sixty. These were often more complex than the predictable Catanards. The writing had to be approved by the Prince’s Arbiter and one of his men was usually in the gallery to be sure that the players did not vary their lines to incite discord. The year before, one author/actor railed against an injustice. He spent a night in gaol, was fined five groats and found his employment terminated. 

During the summer, there was something playing at the pavilion several times a week. Inariel wanted to finish a book so Nag Kath met Derissa Haldaro’s son, 16 year-old Phaerath, for an evening out. A troupe from Lower Khand was allowed to use the stage that night. The players earned what the audience put in their bowl. Performed in Variag, the crowd was thin enough for the two to sit where the musicians usually played for western entertainments. 

It was much like the plays of Upper Khand. The actors, all men, represented lesser gods, Maiar to westerners, deciding the fate of a village. The citizens had been largely faithful, but these godlings knew a flood was coming that would destroy them. Higher Valar could avert the storm but took no interest. These fellows were deciding if they should alert the people or let nature take its course. Two gods thought to warn, two thought to be silent so it was down to the fifth and youngest of them for judgment.

They were still far enough from the stage that Uncle Nag could give a soft, running interpretation to Phaerath. After great wailing and upset, a warning would be given based on scripture so that the pious would understand. And like a lot of Khandian stories, the audience never learned how the village fared. Western men would be howling for refunds without a decisive outcome. 

When it was over, Nag Kath dropped a silver on top of a dozen groats. It sounded different than copper and one of the players came over to thank the sir in better than expected Westron.

The Elf replied in Variag, “Thank you for bringing this to us. It is much like the Hantougsh Vrembal.”

That got him a stare that could never touch Inariel’s but signified nonetheless. One of the others storing their meager props heard it too and walked over. Both bowed. The first man said in that tongue, “Sir must have traveled in far lands.”

“For long years, best of sirs, though, mostly in the north.”

By then the other three wandered over. Ever the Righter, Nag Kath said, “If it is not too near Gelansor, perhaps you will join my nephew and me for wine.”

Mentioning the July crescent moon had no effect, but the offer of a drink went over unanimously. The crowd at the Lion was thin as well. All five players were from Laórki and spoke a smattering or better of the common-tongue so Phaerath could follow along. The Elf told them he had been mostly around Lhûg and Nennûrad but also visited the capital long ago. He did not look old enough to have been anywhere long ago, but he spoke the language like a native and knew the roads.

In Dol Amroth, one only speaks like everyone else does. Discussing other places and peoples with Uncle Nag was new for Phaerath. He asked a few questions and was fascinated with life on the road. Makhar reported their southern Khagan was fine as of three years ago. The Rhûns were behaving themselves. 

When they got to the Haradrim, the conversation became graver. Every able-bodied man in Lower Khand who couldn’t bribe his way out of service had a good chance of watching, fighting or insulting Southrons along the Chelkar River. Their northwest was the worst posting since it bordered the militant state of Gizar below the Ephel Duath range. According to Rhamhous, who had served his full four years on the line, the Hûk or Chieftain of Gizar had fallen in a coup just before their troupe came west and was replaced by his nephew Hûk Tulbar. Young Tulbar was a nasty piece of work and wanted to return to the old ways.

That raised a hair on the jovial blonde who had no discernible reason for knowing anything about Gizar, much less quite a bit. That was the land where the Visitors were able to topple a former Hûk and the breeding ground for the fanatical troops who died on the Pelennor. The Elf was not sure why. He slipped into Mordor with Shelturn along those passes. They seemed fertile. Perhaps it was something in the blood. No matter, Uncle Nag kept buying weak wine and kept getting answers about troop concentrations, recruitment and if Tulbar was threatening the Gondor side of his realm. 

They adjourned agreeing the blonde man and his nephew were the best of sirs and hoped they would return for another show after the troop played in the mud-flats of the Ethir. After he dropped wide-eyed Phaerath home, the patron wrote a letter in a forgotten language to an address in the White City. He lit his candle that night.

_______________-------______________

Conveniently avoiding ‘Tears of the Mountains’, the Kaths rode to Alas Forten in late July. This was the first time Nag Kath and Inariel truly took their leisure. He had his projects but they were not taxing. They found they did not need to talk much to communicate. Somehow that seemed Elvish, though neither truly knew. 

The Odar were in deep water during high summer but other sea fish made their way to the affluent central valley. The Coloma trees had grown a couple feet, despite everyone knowing they would not flourish here. It was just dirt. He also planted seeds of other strange plants. Some were healing herbs. Some were Lembas ingredients. One of these days, he would finally make true way-bread on his own.

It was idyllic, never too hot, usually with a breeze. Rain was welcome when it came. The man who saw to the vineyards said this would be an exceptional year for their local red grapes. Men of the mountains said the yellow grapes were strong as well. Something always did well and something else always did poorly so the farm had many crops.

Militia training in Dudhrandir was a one-week infantry drill. Listless farmers, tired after bringing in fruit and wheat, trudged back and forth through the stubble threatening thin air with staffs and pikes. Nag Kath’s first instinct was to become Burry reborn with backsides kicked high. Then he reasoned the only place that would invade central Belfalas was northern Belfalas. Although the farm had its own designation because of who owned it, the county was nominally governed by the Piro-Tendrit family in Dol Amroth. They were a large, contentious group with little interest in the hinterlands. If the Elf was going to say anything, it would not be to them. 

Summer became fall, Inariel’s favorite season. Chambermaid Amalie did indeed marry the farm manager’s son Billitorn and was allowed to stay on staff. Nag Kath thought the baby would arrive about seven months after the marriage. He kept that to himself this time. Winter was colder than usual. The Elves did not mind. Before they realized, it was spring again. Amalie had a baby girl who was called Florice, an old family name. This year, Miss Told would ride with them to Dol Amroth. She had not been on a horse since she got here but thought it undignified for Her Ladyship to have temporary help. She actually rode rather well. 

_____________-------____________

The spring of the year 130 was a lot like the previous year for the Kath’s. Cal managed to get around. Children got older, so did their parents. In noble news, Prince Barahir’s son and heir Tyaldran and his wife Deriandrie were coming for the summer with their older daughter Misanaldra who had just turned eleven. Fourteen year-old son Arathorn and daughter Taliense who was just nine would stay with their grandparents.

Tyaldran had been here three times before and this was his second trip representing the Principality. In addition to the blood ties with the Ivandreds, the family tree grew from Prince Imrahil. Those vines were thinning with the generations and needed tending. They arrived without incident on June 4th and immediately went to the citadel. Protocol required the two fiefs to greet each other first thing. They would be staying there anyway. As always, Borond and Raniece had the Ivandred family gathering a few days later. Lady Deriandrie did not travel well on the sea and was much improved after four days of solid ground. 

When Nag Kath and Inariel arrived, the family was a bit surprised at how deeply the Lord and Lady of Ithilien bowed to them. Aunt Inara had become less formal after prolonged exposure to Orc Six but she was the ranking Lady of Gondor in Belfalas. The ranking family member was Caladrion who came by man-cart but could walk inside the house. He bowed to his great grandson and then they shook hands. Nag Kath and Inariel came over next. The Lord and Lady gave another short bow and then they held hands as she said, “It is good to see you both again. While you are here we will have long conversations.”

Nag Kath added, “Hello Ty, Deria. Welcome back.”

Misanaldra, shortened to Missy, was almost the same age as two of her Dol Amroth cousins and was having a wonderful time after the boring old palace. She walked up to Uncle Nag and said with conviction, “I am too old to have groats in my ears!”

“I should think they will have grown to nippers by now, young lady.”

Everyone could see her thinking whether she was too old for any coin or just groats. She smiled and kept them guessing. With children, less a few who could not come, they had twenty-five guests. Raniece had learned long ago to have a restaurant deliver everything and have someone else clean up in the morning. That was how Uncle Nag did it, among many. They had a lovely evening. 

Catanard season started in ten days. Caladrion was excited. He could still walk to the pavilion and went to the first comedy, ‘The Courtly Minstrel’. Now into great, great grandchildren, Menalgir got another box of six on the other side of the stage a few years before – a complex political effort needing luck, cash and mortality. They still had to rotate the family and children under twelve were discouraged by long tradition. 

A week later, Cal slipped on a cobblestone and landed hard on his side. The street was crowded and two men immediately helped him into a man-cart and saw him home. Nag Kath was next door and summoned right away. Nothing was broken but the old man would have a long bruise on his thigh and have to stay quiet for some time. 

The comedy ‘Better Sense’ was three days away. Nag Kath and Salvie, just turned twenty-three, had dinner with Cal that night while Inariel joined heirs from both sides of the family in the Princely box. After the performance, the male soloist and two of the chorus along with a half-dozen family members and Miss Told were slipped inside by Salvie. They came into the main room to sing some of Caladrion’s favorite songs from different operas. Dry eyes were hard to find.

By the time the last show was played, Cal could take a man-cart to the pavilion and use a wheeled-chair to his familiar seat. He could walk around the house again. 

A good summer by all accounts.

The autumn went well too. Dudhrandir militia training did not impress but the gentleman Elf farmer just thanked everyone and made sure their workers kept weapons in good repair. Some of them might have been used in the War of the Ring. Amalie’s baby was growing like a weed. The Coloma trees leafed well. 

In February a rider arrived with a message that Caladrion had another fall. Nag Kath went back to Dol Amroth with him. As usual, Cal was on his porch with tea but this time in his wheeled chair. The family hired a strong young man to get him in and out and help around the house.

Nag Kath inspected the damage. He reduced much of the swelling, but the bruise went to the bone. Neither of them thought he would walk again and neither of them said so. The Elf stayed close to home. He and Cal talked about all the things that made a wonderful life. Some were not so wonderful, but taken together, as one must do in this world, the scale tipped in his favor. 

A cold swept through Dol Amroth in March. Most people got it with sniffles and runny noses. Caladrion caught it too. It settled in his lungs. Nag Kath could pull some away, but colds never came clean. Cal’s breathing was ragged for a day, seemed to improve and then got worse. Derissa was not sick so she sat with him holding his hand. Nag Kath had the chair across the room. That night in the wee hours she felt Caladrion’s grip slip away. As if not to disturb dear Cal, she whispered, “Nag.” The Elf walked over and felt for a pulse. Then he put his hand on her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. 

At light, Derissa went to her brother’s and cousin’s houses to tell them. Nag Kath stayed with his oldest friend. Cal’s water blossom was not alone beyond the circle anymore. The couple was of the last time Nag Kath still needed people. He wept for them. He wept because he could. 

Caladrion Ivandred was buried next to his parents, Eniecia and their children in the large family plot on the mainland. It was the first time the younger folk had seen the Elf’s emotions. Pain leaked from his ageless face. Grand-da sat in the grass with his long arms around his long legs in a drizzle well after the family went home. It was Raniece’s sixtieth birthday, the oldest of Cal’s grandchildren. It was their generation now. Nag Kath kissed them when he walked back and rode to Alas Forten.

Inariel was very still. Now that the two Elves, however created, were living together, they necessarily adopted Elvish traits. One of those is the understanding of inevitability. She knew when her husband returned he would bring these tidings. She wanted him to hold her. They talked about Dol Amroth and Nag Kath’s extended family, now three generations from him.

She waited until then to give him the letter she got by King’s courier. It was from her brother, in Sindarin, requesting her and her husband’s counsel regarding old matters in the east. It referenced Nag Kath’s recent report of unrest along the southern Mordor border. He read it twice. “We go overland through Anghabar to the port of Sarlond. It is the same distance as back to Dol Amroth and we avoid a week on the sea. From there we catch or commandeer a boat up the Great River”

She nodded. It was a three-day ride at a steady pace, not difficult with good roads and inns the whole way. This was official business. They would leave at the crack of dawn with an escort of four including the Brittanal cousins and Petrandal along with Dellasannir, the youngest of the household guards. If needed, they would impress horses along the way. Miss Told was up to wave goodbye.


	13. Too Good to Last

**_Chapter 13_ **

**_Too Good to Last_ **

****

**Useful maps are Harondor and Khand Topo.**

They made Sarlond about noon of the third day. If you knew a ship was available, this was much faster than riding to Dol Amroth and sailing the whole way back. Nag Kath hadn’t paid much attention on his trips because it was tucked in a corner on a small spur of land and ships usually passed-by at night. Sarlond was a larger town than he expected and he had no trouble hiring a four-man fishing boat to take them into the channel hoping to intercept an inbound cargo or, even better, Marine vessel. 

They floated for a couple bells until a small freighter wallowed into view. The captain saw the hail and wondered if veering over was a good idea but he tacked to the calmer current and pulled alongside. The Elf shouted, “Good afternoon sir. Are you interested in two paying passengers?”

The fellow had a grin far surpassing the dreams of Nag Kath and called, “I suppose. How far are you going?”

“Minas Tirith, but Pelargir will do nicely.”

The man thought of a fair number, doubled it and said, “A silver, you eat what we do!”

The Elves’ bargaining position was not strong, bobbing like a cork in the lanes. They had Lembas in the bag. “Done!”

With a nod, the fishing boat rowed alongside and a deckhand dropped the boarding ladder. Inariel was wearing traveling clothes and had no trouble getting up. The mate offered her his hand and she took it with a smile. Nag Kath was right behind her and turned halfway up to take the bags from the fishermen. They signaled the Brittanals waiting on the shore to go home.

The royal couple could have demanded passage for free and woe to anyone who denied them, but for a silver coin with her da's dented profile on one side, they could quietly be Nag and Inara Solvanth for the occasion. This was a hauler with no passenger space but a part of the cargo hold was empty enough to serve as their quarters. Like most vessels of any kind, they towed baited hooks off the stern and caught enough fish for the cook to easily feed everyone.

From the point it was still nearly two hundred miles to Pelargir. Spring flow was picking up but with a favorable breeze they made the trip in a little under four days. Inariel was quiet and the crew was surprisingly polite. Captain was a good soul, the father of two daughters, so his men knew to mind their tongues. 

Walking to an inn, the Princess said, “I have never need a bath more.”

That got her an annoying grin, “Then we need to postpone our vacation to Mordor”

That got a grin from her too. He took rooms at the Sail and Sea before going back to the quay to book a ferry to the Rammas Dock. According to the man who ran the ferry office, the Questor was due that afternoon and would head upriver with the light. 

The boat had the wind at her back but with less room to maneuver, traveling against the current is slow. It was another seven days to Rammas, better than usual for the season. They shared a wagon with another couple to the mithril gate and hired two man-carts to take them to the sixth. More groats got them to the seventh. 

Inariel took her husband by the elbow to their apartments to clean and change. Eldarion would already know they were here and that would give him time to clear his schedule. They presented themselves with bows and love. The King beheld her in awe, “You are younger yet. Hello Nag Kath. Thank you both for coming so far so fast. Please, let us talk for a moment and then I will introduce several gentlemen who watch this for me.”

He showed them to his small conference table. Tea was brought and the servants vanished leaving only two door guards outside. The King continued, “We are seeing worship of the old dark ones here in the capital. I would not think anything of it but the tyrant you mentioned in your letter is causing trouble. Refugees are fleeing from this side of his border into Harondor and Ithilien. He has been very cruel, says he is the return of Sauron.”

Nag Kath said, “They have it in them. Does he claim proof or some symbol of his ascension?”

“That is a question for my counselors. Sister, I would like you here as Nag Kath’s advisor. This also falls to Prince Barahir’s borders and I am sure he would like your counsel as well.” Like it or not, this was her husband’s long and true trade lurking behind the convincing impersonation of a country squire. 

The King rose and showed his guests into the small conference room with Security Minister Templeblan, his Guardi Chief Duramhir and Chief of Staff, General Todl already seated. Inariel knew them in passing. Nag Kath had never met any of them but they certainly knew who he was. After greetings, Eldarion said, “Gentlemen, Lord Kath and Princess Inariel have my complete faith. Please explain what you have discovered.”

Templeblan had the floor. “Thank you, Sire. We are seeing increased support for the resurgence of the dark lords among the King’s subjects here in Minas Tirith, Osgiliath too. Some are said to worship them. They call themselves the New Shadow.”

Nag Kath interrupted to ask, “Which dark lords, sir?”

“Three; Sauron, Morgoth and Saruman.”

The Elf looked at Inariel and back to the ministers, “Do you know which language they use? All three spoke different tongues.”

Templeblan drew a blank and looked to his guardi man. Duramhir answered, “Westron, as far as we know. Forgive me, Lord Kath, we have been watching from a distance to see where things lead.”

Templeblan continued, “Mr. Duramhir and I having also been watching an increase in Haradrim coming here from Harondor and Ithilien. Most are just trying to get away from war but a few have been associating with folk who advocate for these dark ones.”

The Elf looked at the general and asked, “Are there rumblings in the army? In the past, that is where the spies are placed in eastern lands.”

Todl said, “Not that I know, but we are keeping eyes peeled.”

Nag Kath put his elbows on the table with his fingers touching. Finally, he started, “My Lord, My Lady, gentlemen, by intent or mischance, I remove residual objects of power from before the unmaking of the One Ring that had fallen into the hands of men, like My Lord’s Angmar campaign. Has there been any sign that those here have, or claim to have, access to old sorcery?”

The Guardi man shook his head. General Todl said, “The fellow you wrote of in Chelkar says he is the next dark king. Our ears there have never been good. Locally we are keeping our eyes on several men but they seem ordinary, at best.”

Nag Kath said, “Both Khands maintain solid troops along their borders, more than enough to keep him from their door. If he wants to expand like the warlords of old, his only choice is west since south is desert. Those little places do not like each other but they seldom had the choice of allies. General, how are our defenses along the Poros?”

“The Poros; strong, Harondor; less so.”

Eldarion commented, “Militia training for Ithilien, here and Lebennin will be more energetic than usual.” 

Nag Kath thought of Burry and smiled. People seemed to be waiting for him to speak next. He surprised them, “Sire, are there any reports of orcs?”

The men looked at each other and collectively said no. 

Nag Kath held his own chin and said, “I will find my old maps. Then let us have a look at one of these worshipers.”

______________-------______________

Back in their apartments, Inariel groused, “Not much to go on.”

“Quite a bit in my line.” He got to where she had hung her own masterwork and grinned, “How did you talk the Provin out of this?”

“Mother kept it in her study.”

He walked over to his drawing, a picture of a child in a fountain, and said with a chuckle, “Now this ... this is worth diamonds!”

Inariel smiled and said, “She seemed to be having a good time. I do not know who drew that.”

“This was before I learned to sign my name, no more than three months after I was released.”

She rose quickly and silently to join him. Inara looked at the picture, her husband and the picture again and sat down, seeming pleased. He knitted his brows and concentrated before asking, “Did your da keep his reports from ministers going back to the beginning of his reign?”

Inariel tilted her head slightly and answered, “I have no idea. Brother’s scribe probably knows.”

He walked over to her, bent to kiss her and said, “Will you ask?” I need to go see Rey and Heuris. Then I need to go to Osgiliath. Hopefully I’ve still got a horse around here. See you tomorrow, my dear.”

Reyaldar had lasted longer than any of the family Northmen but now into his eighties, he moved poorly and never left the house. Heuris was stronger and stayed with him. Their servants were not spring-chickens either. They worked as a team to keep the oldest Conaths comfortable. 

Rey said after the guest was seated for tea, “Good to see you. I am glad Caladrion went in his own way and own time. He and his have acquitted themselves with honor.”

“I think so too, but so have you. We have bowmen here ready to serve.”

“Aye, better shots than I ever was. The call-up this year will be longer than last.” The canny old landlord smiled faintly, “I expect you know.”

His great grandfather sounded vague, “Just what the birds tell me. Along those lines, is Orlon close to hand?” I need to see some old friends across the river.”

Heuris answered, “He should still be in the stable. Eliesse is back at the farm with a foal due in summer, Orlon’s this time.” 

“Good. I will be back soon and we will hear all the stories. Auntie Inara and I will stay long enough to say hello to everyone.”

As his granda left, Rey added, “I will tell the children to open your home.” A pause, "Quietly."

Being an Elf helped Orlon remember his master quickly. The lad at the stable made sure he was the owner by having Nag Kath describe the saddle. That done; he took the stallion gently down the three switchbacks to limber and rode out the mithril gate. The horse was in his prime and needed a good work-out. They made the bridge in two hours with a light sweat with another half-hour down to the far south edge of the original eastern wall. Nag Kath took a room at the Heuron because it had a stable and planned his evening.

____________-------_____________

It was the sort of tavern if you didn’t visit often, everyone stopped and stared. There were empty tables so he sat at one. A waitress came by with a pitcher and a mug waiting to see his coin. A groat later, she poured. The other patrons resumed their drinking but someone at every table glanced over now and again. The tall one seemed a bit down-and-out with a patch on one knee and shabby boots, one of which squished with every other step. He minded his own business and nursed his ale. As he was finishing his second mug, a small man walked in the room looking for someone. Not spotting him, he called, “Anyone seen Listracht?”

No one answered so he tried the next bar. The traveler finished his ale and sauntered into the night. After a leisurely stroll away from the wharf warehouses, he saw an older fellow sitting on a bench, close enough to a streetlamp to be seen but not close enough to tell the face. The Elf sat next to him. The easterling said, “Always hoped to meet you.”

“Is Listracht still with us?”

“Surprisingly, yes. He always has the most outrageous yarns.”

“They’re true.”

“I was afraid of that. Other than that it has been quiet.”

Nag Kath stretched his legs and countered, “Not so quiet.”

“Quiet on the Khagan’s side of the border.”

“Troublemakers are claiming dark powers again. Is there anything to that?”

The fellow stretched his own legs before answering, “Rumors of a witch, though she hasn’t been felt for a couple years now. Tulbar seems a garden-variety warlord with weak neighbors. I could ask a friend of a friend what some of the people leaving our way have to say.”

The tall man put his hands on his knees and said, “I would appreciate that. Those fleeing on the Gondor side are hard-pressed. This doesn’t have to be deadly secret. If someone remembers something, drop a letter in the daily packet to this address.” He handed the man a card to the stable and added, “If anyone takes an interest, I’d like to know that too. Does that put your folk too far into the light?” They still lived under dictators.

“For Kath of Nennûrad, not overmuch.”

____________--------___________

He was back the next morning and hid Orlon before walking in his rough clothes through the markets and refugee clusters on the south first-level. People here looked too, but not very long. The tall man stopped at a stall serving three meat and lentil cholla and dipping sauce for a groat – same price Chûr paid long ago. A girl of about nine walked over and stared. She probably earned that duty from her family because she was missing three and a half fingers on one hand and might shame pity from the charitable. 

The tall man tore a piece of the cholla and gave it to her and then offered the little husk to dip it in. She smiled and made sure to get as much sauce as the patty would absorb. Chewing quickly, she began her appeal in Westron with a heavy accent, “Best of sirs. You have so much and we so not much, could you give to share for to buy more cholla?”

The speech was probably for someone who didn’t have a patch on his knee, but even such as he appeared would have more than her family did. He seemed to consider that and asked, “How many cholla is that?”

On the good hand she counted four fingers and said, “Six cholla.”

“That is quite a few. You were hurt, yes?”

Her head dropped. This was a shameful wound and would severely limit her chances of finding a husband since wives must cook and clean and work with both hands. She said meekly, “Yes, best of sirs. Soldiers came to our home. One hit me the sword. He made me to cry.”

“Oh, I am sorry. Soldiers of Hûk Tulbar are very fierce.”

She did not disagree with the name of the head villain. “Yes, best of sirs. Bad men ate our food.” She was not any closer to her family’s dinner and said another practiced line, “Three groats, best of sirs. One for each finger.”

The kindly man gave her more cholla, “Is your father a soldier?”

She had not prepared for that. Of course he was. Every man in their district was a soldier when he wasn’t farming. If this stranger thought her da was a bad man, he would not give them money for food. Improvising, the poor lass mumbled, “Pada is the good men. He brings us to come here from the bad men.”

The Elf leaned over so he was at eye level with the ragamuffin, “I will give you money. Now you take me to your father, yes?”

No one she had approached even gave her a bite. Most ignored her or threatened to cuff her ear. The market stalls would clear soon and yesterday’s chollas were gone. She nodded grimly and led the tall man towards a tenement against the switchback wall across from the large stable.

Her father and brother were watching to protect her. Some men would not care if she only had half a hand. The blonde man carried a sword. Brother was just thirteen so the stranger would be hard to defeat with no other help. Father was your usual Chelkar Southron with lank black hair and a beard that never quite grew in. Nag Kath thought the lump in the blanket next to his place against the wall was a weapon. 

In their dialect, the girl told da that the tall one said he would give them money but wanted to speak with him first. That seemed promising so her father made the universal gesture for him to sit, in this case, in the dirt. To get around the Swerting’s suspicion of no possible benefit, Nag Kath tossed him a silver. The man didn’t seem to know what it was at first. Money was brown. 

The Elf told him in Westron, “That is worth forty-two groats.” 

Father did not know the tongue as well as his little girl. Her brother told him in Haradric and his eyes got round. He said something and the son looked at the stranger to say, “That is most generous, best of sirs.”

Nag Kath said slowly in Variag, “Do you speak this tongue?”

He nodded. Khandian (or Variag) was the common-tongue of the east. You learned enough to get by. Plainstongue was gone among the old enemies except Mordor. The girl did not know Variag. Keeping in that language he offered, “I will give you more, but you must tell me about your lands. Do not tell anyone you are doing so. What are your skills, best of sirs?”

In rough Khandian da said, “To farm, to make walls”

The Elf asked, “To soldier?”

The fellow nodded reluctantly. Nag Kath pronounced, “Then I will hire you to make walls. Come to the houlars’ section on the other side of the city tomorrow, first thing. I will find you there.” He looked at the son to confirm the message was understood. The boy nodded too.

______________-------______________

“Hello, my dear. How is Milli?”

She saw him dressed as a salt-peddler and wondered if he had to confuse the guards to get in before saying, “Say I told you and I will cast you out, but I think she is at the time of life where sleeping at night is difficult.”

“One of my specialties, if she will allow me to heal. I will leave that with you.”

“Her physicians recommend hot baths and prayer.”

He considered that for a moment but reserved comment. “I made some headway. Did the guardi call?”

“He left a card. Helta put it on the mantle.” Nag Kath put his arms around Inariel from behind. She wrinkled her royal nose and protested, “You need one of Milli’s hot baths. Where have you been?” 

“Among the people.” 

The next morning Nag Kath crept to the first, north of the prow, and sat on a ledge near his mural. The father and children wandered through the tunnel. This was still the first-level, but the north side had far fewer places for those with nothing. They had never been here before and walked slowly, not knowing houlars even had shops. 

Sure they did not have an unlikely shadow, he walked up from behind and said, “Follow me.” Nag Kath pulled fifteen feet ahead and led them to a nook fifty paces further. They sat on two benches in front of a rope-maker’s shop. No one would complain. Kathen owned it. 

For nearly two bells, the Elf talked mostly with the father about the army of Hûk Tulbar; how they fought, how many, tactics, how they drove people away. He also asked oblique questions about any sorcery or symbols the despot used. 

Hanieru was a corporal, as in the west; a leader of ten. That was a bonus. Their militia never had a chance against the troops that invested villages, looting what they wanted and burning the rest. The man ruefully admitted their own Hûk was elderly and his sons were something he would not name in the presence of his young daughter. Tulbar’s officers had a few of the shaggy horses from the east but his soldiers were on foot.

By the time they were done, Nag Kath knew the condition of their boots, what they ate and, most importantly, what they feared. Of note; they used the symbol Fûl but there were no priests like the Visitors. Hanieru did not know what they worshiped, if anything. They were simply vicious, hungry men who did what they were told. His wife had the good fortune to die quickly.

The Elf handed him a small purse that was mostly copper with some silvers. It was a fortune to them, given in small denominations so the Haradrim wouldn’t have to change large coins in public. The gentleman might need to speak to him again. If Hanieru had new tidings of the cruel Tulbar, he should leave a message at a stable on the third level.

The next stop was the guardi office not far from that stable. Villains, at least the sort who got caught, were on the third or below. The main office was on the first. These lads were the ‘eyes’. Nag Kath stopped by and asked for Mr. Danzail. The desk man knew that anyone inquiring was to be shown back straightaway.

Danzail was Nag Kath’s idea of the quiet side of law. Of normal height, slight build and the same length of beard as most male inhabitants, he blended in anywhere but the very top or the very bottom. They shook hands and the Elf was shown a seat in the cramped office. 

The guardi said, “I did as you asked. The leader, or, at least the man out front, is a Temvarid Hallistrad. That would be Hallistrad Mercantile except the old man tossed this son out a few years ago for disrespect. He still has enough money for an apartment here on the south-third where he occasionally meets others. Other times he is not there. My lads are looking for other ways out. It is the sort of building where some tenants have their own outside doors.”

Nag Kath asked, “What makes you think he has anything to do with Sauron?”

Danzail expected that. “His da objected to his scholarship supporting the dark ones. Since then he has been more discreet, but his visitors are known to be interested in darkness as well. I put the man about thirty. He has no friends, no woman; pretty miserable if you ask me.”

The Elf was impressed, “How does he talk to his followers?”

The guardi grinned, “Ah, there he is not so subtle. One of his guests will leave and soon after, written bills appear on the public boards with this nonsense. I think it is a code, but don’t know that either.” The chief took a sheet off his desk, “This one just happened to come my way.”

It was in Westron but with poor spelling and words out of place. Nag Kath would give it a closer look later, perhaps have a scholar of counting look too. He leaned forward and said, “I am sure Mr. Duramhir told you a little of me. My house is 577 on the fourth. I am not there but will stop by often. Let us keep Hallistrad comfortable. This next question is very important; what does he eat?”

_____________-------_____________

Hallistrad's apartment building was where Shurran’s friends stayed all those years ago. Rooms were accessed through interior corridors but several had exterior doors too. By rent or arrangement, their suspect could leave through any of four exits, three on the third and one on a stair up to the fourth. Nag Kath guessed he had one for when he would likely be seen and another for secrecy. 

The Elf reviewed his sketch of Mr. Danzail’s description and had leisurely tea three doors across the street. Good tips kept the waiter happy. Hallistrad did not come or leave, unless well disguised. The Elf had tea there the next day, amazing the owners with his bladder. Towards closing-time, his man stepped out the nearest third-level door and walked furtively towards the food markets. He filled his bag with loaves, butter, eggs and greens. Like many rooming houses, the only stove was in a central kitchen which was heated once a day for renters to prepare their evening meal. The man met no one, spoke only to vendors about the prices and went home through the same door.

The Elf had Danzail put men on the building to see if the fellow made any more trips from his public door. Three days later, he went out again nearing the dinner bell and got a baked-fish plate, greens and grain from a store-front that made them for the convenience of busy workers. Nag Kath thought that was a delicious idea and offered to help prepare food. The cook thought having men pay him for the privilege of working the stove was heaven sent. The condition was that he never told a soul. 

It only took two more days until Mr. Hallistrad was back. Proprietor Blanksire poked his head into the kitchen with a wink and turned to tell the nervous young man that a fresh batch would be coming in just a moment. Warm with savory spices, it was taken home and enjoyed.

Selbroune watched the three front entrances. Mentier had the door in the back. At the late eleven-bell, Nag Kath went in the rear door and wandered the corridor. He sensed his own spell on the second floor. The door was not locked long.

Hallistrad was sitting in a chair and groggy. The first thing he saw was yellow light. The Elf pulled a chair over to the Visitor, for lack of something better to call him, and said in Westron, “I am come from friends. Are we prepared?”

Hallistrad was already under the influence of another spell! That was unexpected. Someone nearby had powers. Not certain to work, Nag Kath gently took control of the humor and asked again, “Are we prepared?”

“Prepared for what?”

“Are our adherents ready?”

“I do not know. We seek ...”

He asked in the Black Speech, “ ** _What powers have you used?_** ” There was no response. He tried the same in halting Southron. Nothing. Nag Kath had overestimated the man. He was the obvious pigeon with higher-ups supervising quietly. Back to Westron, “Who must be told if there is news?”

Against his every fiber, Hallistrad groaned, “The greater one.”

“I must speak with him. Who is that?”

It took another jolt of yellow but the Visitor whined, “I do not know. I leave the sign. His servants will come to me.” After a pause with greater concern, “Is there danger?!”

“No, tidings are good. It is time for the arrival. Give the sign.”

Usually Nag Kath would have given the Visitor some sort of clearing. The best he could hope was to erase his imprint on the disowned merchant’s son since he did not know how to repair the signature of his keeper. With new Lostorin and whatever else the lackey had in his system, he would not remember a thing. Uncleared, it would stay with him for years. 

Hallistrad might not remember the craft of signals and evasion, if he knew any. Unexpectedly, the man stopped and scowled as if straining in the privy. It was gone in seconds. Nag Kath walked out the door for a word with Mentier and returned to sit vigil with his new patient all night. At light the man stood, gathered a small bag in a trunk near the foot of his bed. He wrote something in a code the Elf didn’t recognize and slid it in his tote before walking out the back door. Mentier followed some distance behind with a distinct whistle for Selbroune. 

When a linen store opened on the far south of the fourth, Hallistad walked in. There could be no staying with him but Selbroune hurried through one of the rare alleys between buildings here to see if he ducked out the back. It was solid rock. Hallistrad left the store a minute later, accidentally bumping into a tall, clumsy man who failed to apologize. 

The same tall man scampered back up the stairs to join the two guardi. There was no back exit, unless the stores had inside doors. None of them looked like seamstresses but Mentier was newly married which earned him the job of getting fabric his expectant wife could not get herself. 

Mentier was good. He politely waited for a lady to a look around, knowing his questions would interfere with the owner’s first customer. She was there to claim an item that had already been cut, the only one of its kind on the shelf. The woman, forty-ish, thanked the proprietor and was out shortly without paying, as if on account. Mentier, scratched his head in confusion and said, “I beg pardon, sir. Let me just see the size.” He left and walked out of view of the small shop window giving the nose-rub that their real quarry was the woman. Then he went back inside for a leisurely chat with the owner before buying two yards of lovely fabric that would be just right for the upcoming bundle of joy.

Selbroune and Nag Kath stayed with the woman; the Elf hurrying up the stairs to the fifth to watch from above, the guardi barely out of sight on her heels. She did not seem concerned with watchers, not stopping to window-shop and see who else did. She did turn into a dilapidated house. Selbroune could only wait. Nag Kath saw her make her only feint and come out the rear before backtracking to the next set of stairs up to the far south of the fifth. From there she was wordlessly admitted in the stout gate of a splendid home. 

Not knowing the guardi whistles, Nag Kath collected the two men and told them he needed eyes on the fine home as far away as they could get them, including one on the sixth. He would be with them most of the time. Normally, one of the guardi would discover who owned the place but Nag Kath just walked to the Kathen office and asked Lasthlo. He had married his girl who was expecting in four or five months. Lasth knew the home belonged to Mr. Keprand, a member of mercantile exchange board.

Hellistrand’s important notice was that a runner from Tulbar arrived with refugees. Their friends in the capital should prepare for the next phase. Nag Kath assumed they had a next phase. If they didn’t, that was to the good. More importantly, whoever was in that house had work to do. Sure enough, that afternoon a servant left the main gate, stopping at two other august residences before returning. At twilight, their owners came to the home on the fifth and were admitted on sight. They left quickly. 

The game was on.

________________-------_______________

It was time to talk with the guardi. Templeblan called a meeting with Mr. Danzail and Mr. Duramhir. Chief Duramhir went first, “Keprand seems to be what he seems. Olaughdour is some sort of retired smelter up the Anduin but he lives here. The third is Hech Perandorn, formerly Colonel Perandorn. It seems he retired suddenly for things unmentioned in his resignation. His wife comes from money. The home is hers. He has a son in the army, a Lieutenant, along with a pair of daughters; one married, one still there.”

Nag Kath said, “Good work, gentlemen. Mr. Danzail, your men deserve praise. Here is what I can add; Hellistrand speaks no dark or eastern tongues. He is a believer but was not trained using magic to protect himself from questioning. More importantly, he is already being controlled. I have competition in sorcery – someone of considerable power.

He let that sink-in a moment. “The man will remember nothing of our conversation or taking the message to the linen shop. His keeper will have to refresh his spell. I removed mine when I banged into him coming out the shop.”

Danzail added, “The shop seems ordinary. Women buy garments there or bring in others made elsewhere for fancy embroidery. Mentier had a long chat. He gets a cut for letting the embroiderers use his business as their store-front. The owner regularly visits the shrine of the Valar. One can never say for certain, but I don’t think he is involved. The fellow said the woman who came in for the message is a lady’s maid, so, probably on an errand for the lords of the manor.”

Templeblan sighed, “One less trail to sniff. I think I agree with what Lord Kath is about to say next. I will tell General Todl as soon as I can see him to request eyes on the good Colonel Perandorn. They have their own methods. Chief, do you need more men?”

Duramhir shook his head, “I will take a few fellows off a new cut-purse gang. What about this Olaughdour?”

Templeblan rubbed his temples and said, “Yes, keep an eye on him too. Thankfully, he is not political.”

Nag Kath offered, “Let us not assume we have found the top yet. Does Keprand have friends on the sixth or seventh?”

The Minister chuckled, “You have a devious mind, Lord Kath. I like that. Perhaps with a small squeeze we shall see where the bubbles come up. Mr. Danzail, with the Chief’s permission, I think we should learn everything we can about the distinguished Mr. Keprand, who he knows, what he does, his children, the lot.”

Duramhir nodded as Danzail’s direct supervisor and added, “If the man is in the mercantile league; that could stretch some distance sideways, well out of my purview.”

Templeblan said, “Leave that with me. Lord Kath, do you feel like visiting the General?”

Todl was expected back shortly. This office was on the seventh to be close to the King but he did most of his work on the second at the staff headquarters, not far from their former stables where Nag Kath spent the war. This was important enough that the Minister and Elf waited in his office holding fresh tea. 

With time to kill, Templeblan thought to know his mysterious associate better. “How old are you, Nag Kath?”

“Just turned 134, quite young by Elvish standards.”

“But old by those here?”

The Elf chuckled, “There are older in the Woodland Realm. They keep to themselves. One of these days I will visit them again. Now; my wife is not yet fifty so she is youngest of those in the world of men.”

“I hope you do not mind my asking.”

“If I did it would still be your job to know. You serve a fine and just King. He needs to know things too.”

Templeblan said, “Very well. I understand you were not called with the other Elves because you were once an orc of some kind.”

It showed how far men were from the war that he did not know the different types of orcs. Nag Kath answered, “One of Saruman’s Uruk-hai. I was imprisoned for the Steward’s inspection and turned as I am in a gaol next to the stables on the second. That was why I asked about the dark ones and language. Anyone hoping for the return of Saruman is a fool. He certainly was." He chuckled, "I am as close as they will get.”

That was quite a bit more than Templeblan thought to hear. Just then, General Todl walked in and shut the door behind him. The Chief of Staff in Gondor had the status of the highest Ministers, but was not of their group. Now more politician than soldier, younger men with cavalry, infantry and naval responsibilities stayed with their forces, Todl knew Templeblan well and sat back in his own chair with a sigh saying, “I am sure this is going to be a full plate.”

The Minister gave him the report. Todl put his elbows on his desk and mused, “I remember Perandorn’s departure. He came up with me. It seems he had sticky fingers with an ordinance supplier. It was dishonest but not sinister. He was bitter, probably would have made the general staff. His wife is rich as a Dwarf’s widow. Usually men like that need independent means for secret tastes. Don’t know much about the son either, other than that he is a good officer. His old man’s departure did not affect his prospects. It was all kept quiet.”

That was the way of high office. No one wanted a magistry trial and the opprobrium that came with it for petty change. The General pulled one of two cords behind him and a staff orderly was in within moments. Todl said, “I would like a word with Captain Wheymier.”

The man said Wheymier was on the second and asked if he should send for him. Todl rubbed the bridge of his nose and replied, “No, I am going there now. Have my horse ready in five minutes.”

Nag Kath said, “Before you go …” and gave him the state of play in the Southron's army.

Todl and Templeblan were glued to their chairs. They knew the Elf had considerable battle experience but this was the sort of thing their planners would love to know. The General’s horse had to wait.

Lady’s maid Helta opened the door. This time her Lady’s husband smelled better. She curtsied and he walked around in silence before asking, “Is Her Ladyship out?”

Helta curtsied and replied, “She is at her Lady Sisters’, Your Lordship.”

Nag Kath did not like being ‘His Lordship’ but knew he had married into this and the seventh has rules. He thanked her and walked down the hall to Milli’s. This was a much larger suite of rooms than Inariel’s since it was Millicend’s permanent home. A steward admitted him to a reception hall and would tell the ladies that Lord Kath had returned.

Millicend was now seventy eight but looked fifty. Her husband, long retired, was only seventy two years-old and looked every one of them. Milli invited Nag Kath to join them. He had not been in these quarters before. They were decorated in Gondoran and Elvish styles. That was not generally a graceful mixture, better than Dwarvish, he supposed.

Millicend said in her bubbly way, “Inara tells me you are up to things that I am not supposed to know.” She had a fair raised eyebrow of her own.

The Elf said smoothly, “Just cleaning up old messes, a bit of bother.”

The Princess knew that was as much answer as she would get. Her sister reported, “I asked about the old records. Head scribe Bonthaulu is expecting you to call.”

“Thank you my dear. Is he in the blue hall?” She nodded. He left his eyes on her for any hints that Millicend’s condition had been broached. If there were, they were too subtle for his oafish court manners. The girls did not seem anywhere near finished so he took his leave and wandered down the corridor to find Bonthaulu.

With a name like that, Nag Kath was not expecting a fellow who looked like a Numenorean. The reception was gracious and after yet more tea, the scribe asked, “How may I be of service, My Lord?”

“Many years ago, one of King Elessar’s counselors kept records of orcish military tactics. This would have been in the year 3020 of the last age. The author was Amiedes Tallazh who later became the first Minister of Trade. Do you keep archives that far back?”

Bonthaulu put his cup on the desk and said, “I do not know, but will certainly look. Most of those things are kept.”

Nag Kath came back, “It may be in a larger file of similar war records. I should like a look at the lot, if it is not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, My Lord. Provided we can find it. I shall leave word at your apartments as soon as the archivist is done.” The Lord left reconsidering the advantages of being the King’s brother-in-law. 

Inariel was still at her sister’s when he got back to the apartments so he took off his boots and wondered about what came next. The army would look into Lieutenant Perandorn. The Guardi were watching the troika and, presumably, snooping into the merchant’s exchange. The Southron corporal was under no obligation to be available. Righters across the river were alert. That was where anyone coming up from south Ithilien would arrive, which made him think of the merchant who did business there. Might he be the king-pin of the three?

He heard from the scribes an hour later. They found Tallazh’s notes along with related pieces from one of the Steward’s officers who gave specifics into field tactics of the troops behind the orcs before the dead army arrived. Nag Kath was interested to see how Tallazh described him as he learned the tongue and drew his pictures. He remembered very little of this. Tallazh went from mildly disgusted to sympathetic as their relationship developed. 

The officer’s diary was not personal but well-ordered on how units were deployed. Tactics were specific to the Chelkar regiments. They might not still do things that way and did not have the Mûmikils as cover, but it was instructive. 

Inariel arrived after dinner. Nag Kath knew he was on his own and finding things to eat amounted to ringing a bell. She sat on his lap on the couch and said, “While you have been enjoying life, Milli told me more of her difficulty. I mentioned that was one of your healing specialties. She will let one of us know.” She cautioned, “Royal healers generally do not touch royal bodies.”

Her royal healer had no such restrictions.

Head Guardi Duramhir read down the list of the merchant’s exchange. They were important men, some better known than others. “This one, a Mr. Rellugh-Tur, has been with the group four years and works from West Osgliath. He trades up and down the Anduin, sometimes with his own ferries, sometimes hired. As near as we can tell, he is a proper citizen now. The man contributes to the Pelennor Charity, pays his bills and keeps his nose clean.”

Nag Kath asked, “Where does he live?”

“Big place on the southwestern bank. Here’s the address.”

There was no sense who to squeeze first. The suspects could already be ruined, or worse, for violating the King’s Peace, but if one of them wasn’t the top man, it would only drive him undercover. 

Nag Kath volunteered for another ride east.


	14. Undercover

**_Chapter 14_ **

**_Undercover_ **

He started with Ilvest Kathen. The Elf wasn’t a partner anymore but was still their biggest client so Harengred Ilvest received him in style. It was unusual that the property chief over here was tall with straight hair after so many generations of Gespath near-hobbits. The rare meeting started unusually; “Gred, what can you tell me about Mr. Rellugh-Tur, lives on the west-side down by the old wall.”

The man had a sip of tea and said, “I know of him, don’t know him. I think he owns his own property.”

“I need to find out more, an old matter.”

The estate man knew the old matter was none of his business. After more tea he admitted, “Never had much to do with that corner, but my friend Renthiew does. I’ll need to introduce you. Are you in a hurry?”

“Not really.”

"Let us ride over tomorrow, not too early, and pay him a visit.”

They had dinner with the family and rode after porridge. From the office to the far south of western Osgiliath takes an hour on horseback. Renthiew didn’t have an office. He was a cantankerous old fellow who owned a few rental buildings and made his son-in-law do all the lifting. The man was sitting on his porch when they arrived.

“Hello, old Eried!”

“Good day, Gred. What brings you out here?”

The riders tied their horses to porch posts and walked up. Ilvest replied, “In the area. Eried, this is Nag, old friend of mine. We were wondering if you could tell us about your neighbor.” The tone of voice suggested this was business. Renthiew was alone so this was as private as anywhere. He gestured for them to pull their choice of wicker chairs up close.

Ilvest said, “This needs to stay between us. Nag wants to know about Mr. Rellugh-Tur. He is making inquiries from Minas Tirith.”

The old boy leaned back in his chair and wondered, “Are you now? Mind my asking why?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm, what do you want to know?”

“Just if he has any friends who visit from the bottom of the Ephel.”

Renthiew thought before answering, “Don’t know. You some sort of soldier?”

“I am.”

“That’s different! Eighteen seasons in the Third Pikemen till I dropped a rafter on my toes! Swertings making trouble again?”

Nag Kath could give him that, “Not yet, but one of their hard men is pushing this way. We would like to make sure he doesn’t get very far.”

“I still don’t know anything about the man, but I will tell you this for the cause; there is a rooming house across from the compound, only place around, run by a Mrs. Briel. Tell her I sent you. Cost you fifteen groats a night. Bring your own sheets. Any of the rooms facing that way on the second floor will give you a view. She’s a chatty sort. You bring wine, maybe chattier.” He chuckled at that.

______________---------_____________

There weren’t a lot of options for spying. The large mercantile complex was nearly at the bottom of the old wall and stretched west from the river all the way to this seldom-used road, much further inland than any of his neighbors on the river – too far from the bridge to be highly-sought and further from Minas Tirith than the Rammas dock. The aging rooming-house was the only structure anywhere close to the back end of the property. 

Nag Kath left Orlon with Renthiew and carried his bag, telling Mrs. Briel he needed four nights and paying in advance. Leaving his things in the room, he made a wide circle around the businessman’s compound, peeking in the wharves on the river. It had a gate on the inland side across from the rooming house but there were no recent tracks visible from his quarters. He pulled the only chair up to his window and read a book. Boarding here included dinner. He would ask questions then. 

Next to Mr. Solvanth sat the landlady’s elderly mother-in-law, a woman much devoted to pious living. There was Mr. Lenfulas who was here from Pelargir. Across from him was a Mr. Iriantha, who would have you know he was the man to see about the finest Poros roofing slates. There was no mention of what happened to either Mr. Briels. 

The two gentlemen had an animated discussion about roofing, river currents and the general decline in public decorum. Mrs. Briel the elder only commented on public decorum as it pertained to her lifelong study. The landlady said little and Mr. Solvanth ventured; “That is quite a place across the way. Stout walls too.”

It was the sort of comment greenbottoms make when they feel the need to say something but are out of their depth. The landlady smiled, “Foreigners, but quite respectable. I think he works at the docks.”

Her mother-in-law proclaimed, “Foreigners have foreign religions!”

She didn’t seem to think that needed any embellishment so the handsome man wondered, “I do not much about those beliefs. How are they different from our own?” The two merchants combined for the barest of groans. Evidently this had been covered the night before. 

The old lady glowered at them and snapped, “Young man, foreigners believe in black powers! They would murder us in our sleep!”

Nag Kath thought he should risk being a bit more stupid, “I should hope the people across the road have no such intentions!”

Mrs. Briel the younger felt paying customers did not need to be told that swarthy foreigners thirsted for blood at nearby rooming-houses. “Mother, dear heart, I am sure the family obeys our laws to the letter.”

Unmolified, the senior woman declared, “From the desert, they are! Just because they haven’t slain us yet doesn’t mean they won’t. Hughmmph, I lock my door at night!”

The Elf’s job was to get information, not be an accommodating dinner guest. With alarm; “Dear me! One of my neighbors is from, oh, one of those lands to the east and doesn’t seem at all the type to make trouble.” He looked at the old lady piteously and asked, “How would one know if their neighbors were murderous villains?”

Landlady Briel tried again, “Mother has always tried to keep us safe from …”

“HOW?!" the old lady thundered, "See them riding here at night, warriors by the look with those curved swords. Oh, yes, they are dressed like traders, but my Hogun was a soldier and I know what to look for. He never abided cut-throats!”

The merchants decided they had enough to eat and made for their rooms. The young man looked forlornly at his cold meat before excusing himself shortly after. On the way up the stairs he heard, “Mother! You will drive us to the Charity if you …” 

Bloodthirsty Southrons, eh? Tomorrow he would have a closer look at the docks. 

No one was murdered. The two merchants were on their way after porridge. Nag Kath wandered to the wharf. The long compound had no obvious gates on the side walls. The company sign on the water belonged to the trading company from Duramhir’s mercantile list. The dock seemed just like the others lined to the bridge with a slack crew waiting for ferries or small ships to dock. Assuming the old lady was right and soldierly types with curved swords used the back door, this was a lucrative way for Rellugh-Tur to maintain appearances.

___________--------__________

If dinner the night before was trying, tonight was excruciating. It was just the two women and the blonde man. He ruffled the bedding to make it look like he slept. While he was out, he did run across a modest jug of red wine. It could wait until Mrs. Briel senior was tucked away. 

Mrs. Briel the younger became more solicitous and helpful to her young boarder. The old woman needed an interesting conversation to interrupt so the landlady asked the blandest question she could, “What brings you Osgiliath, Mr. Solvanth?”

“My father-in-law sent me to await a shipment coming upriver. Yesterday was the first day it could have arrived, but I am to wait until the ferry docks and make arrangements for the goods to be carted to Minas Tirith.”

She offered, “How interesting. I hope your wait is not overlong.” It took an age for her to lick her lips. The old lady was noisily working her remaining teeth and paying no attention. Briel junior gazed her way and asked, “Is everything to your liking, mother?”

“Fine thank you, daughter-in-law.”

The landlady looked deeply at her sole guest and empathized, “I know it can be lonely on the road, away from the ones we love.” Her lips were dry again.

Nag Kath put her at about forty-five. She was in the mold of the lusty innkeeper Whilmina along the Greyflood except ten years older plus another thirty pounds. This was when the old lady needed to say something but she continued grazing and mashing her food. 

Her earnest lodger beamed, “Yes, I am newly married with a youngster on the way. Fortunately, Granhulda’s father needed a man and I was retained, on a probationary basis, of course.”

Briel senior belched to shame a Dwarf and announced, “I shall retire to my room now. Good evening to you both.” 

The landlady rose and helped her down the hall before returning to the table saying softly, “She really is very sweet.”

“I am sure she is, Mrs. Briel.”

“Please, I am Verlia to my friends.” 

Nag Kath did not offer a first name. He did say, “I did not want to mention this in front of a pious woman of the Valar, but would you object if I had a taste of wine?”

That seemed to dry her lips considerably, “I think that would be fine, Mr. Solvanth.”

The Elf slipped upstairs and back with the jug, at first only filling his empty tea mug and then remembering that one should always share with others. She had a solid pull and sighed, “Yes, travel can be lonely.” He noticed that her top blouse button had undone itself.

Oh Eldarion, My Liege, there are things you must not ask of me! He needed that upstairs view, but might jump the wall tonight against two more dinners here. 

After her first cup of wine, Verlia’s every movement became a languid gesture of invitation. Nag Kath knew he could out-drink her but only had one bottle. He poured her another mug and said, “Your mother …”

“Mother-in-law.”

“Uh, yes, exactly, she seemed much concerned about the Southrons, if that is what they are.”

The mood of romance was squelched for the moment. Mrs. Briel gulped about half of round two and sulked, “Old woman is off the beam.”

“I thought as much. I hope these neighbors are not who will load our goods.” He topped her mug.

“Noooo, I don’t know what he does. Some sort of … something. Shipping?” Another button was loose.

The young newlywed said in relief, “Oh, that is reassuring. With that wide gate, I should think they handle large wagons.” He realized his metaphor too late.

This was not going the way Mrs. Briel wanted with the dim-witted son-in-law. “They get wagons, sometimes. Mother-in-law gets so upset when people come and go. Her window is right below yours and she watches all day … watching and waiting … and WATCHING and WAITING!” Her second mug was down to a ring around the bottom. 

The young gentleman poured again and empathized, “My aunt was much the same, bless her heart. She would stay at her window knitting, trying to catch perfectly respectable neighbors in heresy.”

“HERESY!” The landlady was hitting stride. Hopefully the old one was deaf as a mallet. “Heresy! I’ll give you heresy! Sometimes more foreigners arrive and they sing or chant or incant, drives mother-in-law to distraction!”

The skittish young boarder fretted, “That is terrible! I hope they do not do that while I am here!”

Round three was almost a memory. Fortunately, they were the little Hobbit-sized mugs that only hold a half-pint. Since he was sipping, there was one more left in the jug. Mrs. Briel erupted, “Who knows what the dougsh do?! Saw one of those soldiers mother-in-law hates so much arrive today.” She burped, “Horse hadn’t been groomed since, well, for a long time!”

Her boarder was frightened, “Oh, I knew I should have stayed home! What if the shipment doesn’t arrive before they summon their demons?!”

She looked at him with a lip-lick as long as her tongue. He poured the last inch of the jug in her cup as she slouched in her chair trying to reach his shins with her toes. Being two seats across from center, they didn’t reach. “Hold your water, boy! They don’t do that unless the big swarthy brute comes ... long stringy mustache.” She became sultry again, “Not my sort of man, if you take my meaning.”

He needed to hear about this fellow so he dumped his mug into hers to keep the conversation alive. Mrs. Briels slurped and slurred, “Sometimes he comes with two Swertings. Sometimes he’s alone. Mother-in-law … fair … howls …” With the damage to the last mug, her slouch became a sprawl as her head leaned against the chair-back. She was snoring when he tiptoed up to his room. 

Those late-harvest Dorwinion wines pack quite a punch.

_____________-------_____________

For some reason, porridge was not ready at the usual time. Nag Kath wandered back to the docks. A small, oared, freight-barge was being unloaded. Two warehouses upstream, another craft was filled for shipping later in the day. Nag Kath walked up to a muscular young man from one of the southern lands after the boat was made ready. Yellow light flashed. Money changed hands. 

The King's agent watched the entrance from up the street this time and made for his room at the three-bell. Mrs. Briel junior was cleaning with the least possible motion. She looked up and smiled as he went upstairs. After quitting time, the handsome stevedore wandered-in and wanted to rent a room. He paid for two days with cash he didn't have that morning and said he was here to wait for a package after work. If it didn't come, he still got to sleep in a room that didn’t have three other dock-men fighting for space. Mrs. Briel the elder was livid. The blonde newlywed went to his room right after fish. An hour later, thumps and moans proved the old lady was almost deaf.

Nothing much happened the next day until the fading sun. The swarthy horseman arrived and was admitted in the gate by someone waiting. His horse had long hair too. Mrs. Briel senior limped to the main window and nearly burned a hole where she stood. This was too much! Nag Kath was gone when they turned, slipping over the wall and making his way to the first of two rooms with lamps burning in the residence area of the compound. A woman was doing needlepoint. The other lit a conversation between Rellugh-Tur and his two guests. 

The Elf knew enough Haradric to parse through the Chelkar dialect. No, no one knew why the simpleton in Minas Tirith sent the message. No such tidings had come from the south. The Lord Tulbar had crushed the feeble Hûk Konsturdi of Korb Chelkar. When he crossed the Chelkar River, there would be little resistance from the Khans of Imladrim.

Mr. Rellugh-Tur said, “Then it is in place.” 

The younger Southron asked, “If we do not intend to strike the Elessar, why bother with them?”

Rellugh-Tur answered, “For the money. Foolish lordlings who worship the dead offer tribute, and we accept. Harondor is weak. The Gondor have no stomach for a fight. They claim lordship, but leave it to fly-meat like Houshuld to protect their underbelly. Once it is ours, they can only be glad we do not take more.” He thought a moment, “Our sorcerer tells us Elessar’s army only bolsters their defenses above the Poros. Below that is ours for the taking." He turned to the senior rider, “Wennig-Dûk, you say our Huk’s progress is as planned?”

“No change. We must wait for snows in the Duath to melt and conscript the peasants to better purpose. The weapons you send go where needed. We cross the Chelkar next autumn when they know how to swing them. If it is later, there is still no opposition. 

The swarthy Southron added lustily, “Come; that is enough talk of what might be. I need food and ale.” He got his food. He got his ale. Late that night, he got a visitor. This man had not been conditioned against interrogation either. These people were susceptible to sorcery.

Nag Kath walked in the rooming house to get his bag the same time a sleepy young stevedore wandered out. The Harad still had no idea why he stayed there but he knew the money could only be used for lodgings. No package arrived. The woman was useful. His mother warned him Gondor was a strange land! 


	15. The Face That Haunts

**_Chapter 15_ **

**_The Face That Haunts_ **

Eldarion recalled the council, this time including the silent guardi Danzail and Captain Wheymier. Neither of the two junior men had spoken to their liege before but they were not tongue-tied. The King looked around the room and said, “Your progress deserves credit gentlemen. Lord Kath, will you begin?”

“Thank you, Sire. The trip to the river was fruitful. Rellugh-Tur in Osgiliath ships arms for Hûk Tulbar who is taking over his western neighbors by force in a fertile strip along Chelkar River just below the Duath mountains. His realm is Gizar and he has already conquered Korb Chelkar to his west. By moving downriver he will eventually control the eastern Chelkar river-valley. That gives him a stage to attack Imladrim’s deep-river ports. Once consolidated; the north Harnen bank offers little resistance.

“I interrogated their main runner between east and west. This Hûk claims powers of old. I would have needed to kill the household to ask anyone else.” He continued as the men looked askance. “They have no aims above the Poros but rouse adherents in Gondor for money. That buys arms in Osgiliath which are then sent to the war-zone as Tulbar forces the conquered people into his army. That is why they have all three dead dark lords available for local worship. Gondorans can take their pick, for all it gets them.

“The consensus is that the Khans of Imladrim are weak. They also know our army hardens our positions north of the Poros, but not below. Once established, those are Your Highness’ new neighbors.”

Everyone in the room was stunned; partly because it was audacious and partly because it was possible. No one worried about harmless Harondor, officially part of Gondor, not that anyone there thought so. Assuming he could speak freely, Captain Wheymier reported, “The young Lieutenant does not seem to be the traitor. I am sure his old da has an ale with friends who think the Colonel was unfairly treated. Bolstering the militias is not much of a secret.”

The Elf offered, “It might not be our lads at all. They have a sorcerer.”

These men, even the King, were past the age of enemy battle-magicians. They had heard the stories from old-timers who weren't old enough either. The pause only lasted a moment when Templeblan played a dragon card, “Consider this; Keprand is on his second wife. The new one is said to be a beauty of the east. The old boy dotes on her. From what everyone said, I have a bad feeling.”

King Eldarion had not expected to hear so much so fast. He summarized, “So, the chances are good that a despot from Sauron’s old breeding grounds seizes control of Near Harad and become a threat on our side of the Harnen River. The Swertings are right, Harondor cannot protect itself. Umbar can, so this Hûk puts himself between the anvil and the sledge, but only if we raise armies.

“Gentlemen, I want options. General, think first of our borders and then consider what we might do to make Harondor stronger.” He turned to his scribe, “Have Minister Franscieth report to me tomorrow as the schedule permits. We are going to talk to our friends in Umbar. Lord Kath, we need a look at this eastern beauty. Then we will explain the fitness of things to these traders in Osgiliath.

“Anything else? Plan to meet again soon gentlemen.”

As they left, Nag Kath said to Danzail, “Your two men were very good. May I borrow them?”

As he strolled to their apartments, the changeling knew this was inevitable. Aragorn in his day, and now his son, tried to promote officials on merit. That created some manner of competency and weeded-out truly hapless men from the middle up. It also created tension among those wanting to advance. After all, they were the competent ones. It also created a paradox at the top. King Elessar was the coming of prophesy, a man for the ages destined to save his people at their utmost need. He was also King longer than any of his original subjects lived. His son, his beardless, Elf-like son, would likely live even longer. That made both of them godlike. Gods are easier to pray to than work for. Frustrated men, including some of the competent ones, want their own gods.

In a perverse way, that applied to Nag Kath’s role thus-far in life. Orlo’s legacy suggested a figure would emerge to the salvation of the oppressed. Nag Kath had risen at opportune times to do a great deal for post-Sauronic peoples. He didn’t think it was particularly Holy, but to short-lived observers, he had appeared as heroes of lore. In retrospect, it was mostly a matter of keeping his eyes open for better than a century. Those opportune times were sporadic because he spent a lot of his days loafing with his wives and painting flowers while waiting for interesting projects.

Turning the corner he grinned a prophetic grin knowing his amorous wife would have missed him. 

Inariel knew he was back but reporting to her brother came first. Eldarion would not keep him long and then he was all hers. She had not seen him in action before. As others noticed, when he was on the hunt he was more like a cat than a man. She wanted to go to the dance club tonight. Nag Kath did not have to be told twice. They stayed longer. There were more couples on the floor. She in her veil, they danced slowly and sat next to a woman she thought she knew with her handsome husband. With her sensuous movement, Inariel was sure she had his attention tonight. In each others arms later she cooed, “You should grow your hair long.”

“Hmmmm?”

“I would like to see you as an Elf of old.”

He thought about that. Keeping his hair shorter like most southern men had been a disguise he needed many times. But these days, men would not recognize an Elf with long hair and pointy ears. There were no Elves so it didn’t matter what they used to look like. He said he would.

______________------_____________

The next morning the Elf met Mentier and Selbroune at the lower guardi office. All of their other projects had been cleared. He explained, “It might be Keprand’s wife we need. Has anyone gotten a look at her?”

Mentier replied, “We don’t get much of a look at anyone. Keprand only ever leaves for lunch, usually by himself and never with anyone we suspect. There are servants who come and go, including the one at the linen store. She hasn’t been back. To be honest; we have no idea how she knew to go that time. Sorry not to be more help, Lord Kath.”

Lord Kath said, “Between us, it is just Nag Kath. Now, the new wife is said to be a beauty of the east. I do not know if she still is, but we are probably looking for someone smaller than our local girls with very dark hair and olive skin, possibly dressed as a maid.”

Selbroune observed, “Well now, here’s a thought for you; that tall one we followed from the shop; sometimes she goes out with another lass who is half a head shorter, wears modest clothes, always with a hooded cloak.”

“Did you see her face?”

Both Guardi shook their heads. Selbroune added, “She did not want to be seen.”

Nag Kath said solemnly, “That is going to change. Was there any pattern to when they go out and does the small one ever go alone?

Mentier pulled a small notebook and answered, “Never seen the little one by herself but the last time they went out together was Thursday at the eleven-bell and the time before that …” he flipped two pages back, “… was the Friday before, also at the eleven-bell.”

“Where?”

Mentier looked in his book, “Thursday to a baker and then the stationer …” he flipped back a page; “… Friday to a place that sells sweets and spices.”

“Dougsh!”

Both Guardi looked at the agitated Lord Kath. Selbroune ventured cautiously, “Spices like you put on that man’s fish?”

“Mr. Mentier, I need to stop by that shop.”

The man did not need his book, “Prohcarie, on the third, little place that sells kitchen things, just past the north fountain.”

The Elf said very gravely, “If this is our witch, she may well have heard of me, and not fondly. And she can throw a confusion-spell so anyone in her circle is a potential assassin. These folks are near the royal family. Please tell Minister Templeblan to keep your charges buttoned-up, and if anyone on our list gets near the seventh, kill them first and capture them second.”

Nag Kath went out to stock his larder.

________________-------_______________

The bell over the door rang when he walked in. A young lady came from the back and said with a pleasant smile, “Good afternoon sir. We can make you a fine price on cutlery today.”

The customer wore clothes that might have been nice at one point but past that now. He had a pair of spectacles that were not ground for his eyes so he had to keep moving them up and down his nose to focus. The man gathered himself and said, “Oh, and a good day to you ma’am. Just a moment.” He rummaged through several pockets for a folded scrap of paper. Fiddling with his specs again he said, “I am sent to get, uhm, let me see; salt, comfrey, tulus and bronego.”

She asked, “Borhego?”

He handed her the list and she asked again, “Might this be borhego?”

The tall man shrugged his shoulders. The young lady offered, “We are out of comfrey but have the rest. How much did you have in mind, sir?”

“Oh, not very much. Whatever the normal amount is. My Granhulda is not well this week so I am doing what I can.”

The lass said with no change in tone, “We get little call for tulus, more of a northern taste. Let me make sure I have enough. It does not keep well here in the White City.” She walked to the side of the narrow shop and climbed a folding ladder to fetch a jar from the top shelf. Bringing it down, she pulled the stopper, “Will that do, sir?”

“Oh, dear me, I am not sure. May I ask the price?”

She poured it on the scale and said, “Six groats, the lot.”

“Perhaps a half-groat’s worth, young lady, and the others, please.”

“Certainly, sir.” 

As she folded the herbs into paper sleeves the distracted fellow wondered, “I suppose different people eat different things. Is this herb from Rohan?”

“I think so.”

Her hapless customer recalled, “I knew a fellow from Rohan; red hair, he had. Does a woman of Rohan buy this, ma’am?”

“It’s miss. More southern, I should think. Perhaps she cooks for northerners. She orders it special. 

Her customer slipped his specs in a pocket and told her gravely, “Young lady, I need to speak to you about this woman.”

She backed towards the door into the storeroom before shouting, “Father!”

Within moments, a stout fellow burst in with a sword and demanded, “You leave now if you know what’s good for you!”

“You will hear me out first.”

Da asked, “Who are you?!”

“You do not want to know who I am. I am with the Guardi and am following someone you want to know even less. Help me and I will help you.”

She looked at her father and he nodded. Da stood there with the sword while she hung the closed sign on the window before returning behind the counter. The proprietor looked at the customer and demanded, “Let’s hear it.”

“A woman came here to buy one of the same spices I just ordered. She is on the short side, probably very good looking and probably with another, taller woman. I want your daughter to describe her to me so I can draw her picture. Then you are going on holiday for a month in Pelargir. Others will manage things here while you see the sights.”

The girl was silent. Her father stated, “Expensive place; Pelargir.”

Nag Kath snapped a nipper on the plank. The shopkeeper stared at it for a moment, “I understand it is lovely this time of year.”

The customer had remained hooded, even inside. But the lass got a good look when the lady had to repeat a question about an ingredient Nag Kath had not heard of. It took half an hour of sketching and erasing but the girl was sure that was the woman captured exactly.

Nag Kath looked at the picture as if in pain before saying, “I was in jest about Pelargir. Tomorrow teach my man how to run things. Then go to East Osgiliath.” The tall one wrote an address on one side of a fresh sheet and a note on the other before saying, “The agent there will put you in a nice home with food and a servant free of charge. Take the whole family. Do not use your name, and NO ONE else knows where you really went, not even anyone working for me.”

After a poor start, the shopkeepers thought the day went rather well.

_______________------_____________

Inariel had just comforted her man through grief and difficulty, but she had never seen him as lost in his own thoughts as that night. She lay in bed and held him, eventually falling fast asleep.

Listening to her gentle breathing, he thought of the recurring women of his family, ladies of extraordinary poise and beauty. There was a family like that in Khand. Without doubt, the woman under the hood was a great, great grand-daughter of Nulvanash the Assured. And she was alive because the Uruk saved Chûr.

In the morning, he marched down to his house and flipped through the archive drawings until he found the one of Chûran, holding it against the cloaked woman. Did you inherit dark powers? Are you here to claim what they could not? There would be no saving her like Chûr; here only to scrounge a meal. No, she wanted more, and she would know who he was. But he was still in Dol Amroth as far as the public knew. It would stay that way. 

Inariel was even beautiful when she woke. He kissed her softly and said, “My dearest, you are going for a ride this morning.”

“Where are we going, husband?”

“Not we, you. Visit Emyn Arnen and stay in the walls. Take two of your brother’s best in ordinary clothes but armed to the teeth. No one knows exactly where you are going, not even your family.”

By then she was up on her elbows with half of her penetrating stare. He kissed her again and said, “Keep a sword close.”

A retired guardi deputized for his long-lost second cousin who was visiting their aunt in Pelargir. The tulus spice got an unusual spell before it went back in the jar. Whatever would happen could not rely on the Variagah coming by the spice shop. She might have enough for six months. Mentier and Selbroune had help watching the home. The tall woman went out two days later and with a series of whistles and winks, Nag Kath arranged to be on her path when she returned. He felt no residual magic. That did not mean she could not summon it, just that she had not used it lately. This time he did get a good look at her face and it was not of the east.

Most things were delivered to the home. A good-sized man saw to the gate. Sometimes he and/or another fellow went out for heavier items. No women left. Mentier reported the hired men went out one night a week on different days. One was Gondoran and ate with his family on the second. The other was probably from the south and he ate food of that land. 

The break came the next day when old Mr. Keprand was to play checkers again with Mr. Surald at the Pelennor Gate Club. Mr. Surald was delayed. As Keprand was waiting, a blonde stranger sat in the chair across from him and said something yellow. The man was already susceptible so it did not take much. Nag Kath told him that after dinner tomorrow, members of the Mercantile Exchange would be coming by his home. That was the southern man’s night off. The tall, reassuring guest said there was no reason to tell anyone other than the Gondoran gate-keeper since his lady wife already knew.

______________-------______________

The Mercantile Exchange lads were a hardier lot than usual. There were four of them, well-dressed, carrying weapons against a scare spreading through the city that thieves of Dunland were running amok. They arrived after dinner and were shown to Mr. Keprand’s large office by the Gondoran bodyguard. The host began a quiet conversation with one of the guardi about shipping rates. After the bodyguard went to his quarters, Selbourne and Mentier followed Nag Kath up the stairs where Mr. Keprand told them his wife would be after the evening meal.

The maid left the room making them pull into corners as she stepped downstairs. The trailing member, Selbourne, watched her all the way down before nodding. As arranged, Nag Kath walked in alone. Guardi swords would not avail them, not at first.

The woman was sitting at a small table reading by a lamp and said without turning, “That was fast. Was my husband still in his room?”

The Elf replied, “Yes, still there.”

She looked up with flashing eyes and threw a bolt of power at him. It deflected off his ward as his bringing spell slammed her against the wall. She looked unconscious, or worse, but he kept a grip on her throat as he approached. She was not dead. Nag Kath whistled for the others who quickly trussed her in a chair and put a bag over her head before looking at the blackened walls behind them.

Downstairs, the fourth guardi had immobilized the maid and whistled that he was watching the door against either of the male servants coming in the main house. Mentier went downstairs to even the odds. The big bodyguard was probably not a black disciple, but he would only get one chance to be good citizen. Cook and her helpers were hiding for their lives in the kitchen. Yhardin ran outside to open the gate and a half-dozen more guardi hustled into the house and grounds.

Then they waited. She could not fake being asleep any better than Chûr. Nag Kath kicked her foot and said in Westron, “Now you are going to answer some questions. Do you understand?”

She said in Khandian, “I no speak sir’s tongue.”

He repeated it in hers. She did not answer.

As Nag Kath told her great grandfather, he had all the time in the world. He spoke in his native Black Speech which, by its very nature, resonates with a foulness that almost sticks to the walls. She did not know it but she knew what it was by the way she tensed. The Guardi tensed too. In Khandian this time, “Young lady, you will tell me what I want to know. We will start with your name.”

She decided they would not start at all. Nag Kath threw a confusion spell at her but the bag got in the way so after warding the men he pulled it off. Yes, that was the face. Her eyes burned fiercely – not a human stare at all. Chûran’s was a soft, almost pleading, gaze. Same face, completely different use.

Nag Kath pulled a chair next to her and said gently in Variag, “I am sorry. I really am. Chûr was a friend to me.”

She spat, “You are no friend! You stole his heritage and forced him to peddle trinkets to feed his family!”

No, Vanteg Chûr came back to Khand to meet his mother and had a successful business. That was what he wanted in life. His loving da’s legacy would have been cheaper. Nag Kath leaned back and drawled, “Ah, so you do speak. Good. Now you will tell me why you are here.” When she pursed her lips, he hit her with the spell again. It barely took. He did it twice. In a drawing voice he asked again, “Why are you here?” The woman shook her head as if it might keep her from answering. Nag Kath would not torture her, but there were plenty who would if she threatened the King’s Peace. 

He sensed something. She wasn’t trying to evade him. She was muttering a call, trying to send a message. The Elf needed to stop that so he used the ‘fast’ to get ten feet from her chair and hit her with the spell to exorcise darkness. The woman leaned forward as far as her bonds allowed and screamed to wake the city. He saw the mist. It was faint, less than Ghougash the orc, but it was there, and pure black like the Princess in Miraz. 

He walked back and held her beautiful face with one hand. She would be out cold for a day. Guardi loaded her in a man-cart bound for a cell he warded at their third-level headquarters. Then he went downstairs to Mr. Keprand’s office. The man was still talking to thin air about the difficulties of shipping perishables when the Elf administered a clarity spell against the Lostorin poison. The merchant would sleep like a baby tonight. So would Nag Kath.

___________________-----_________________

The day started clean and bright. Sauron would not have liked it at all. The Elf slept in. Guardi watched his house, the King’s family and a few other places where minions of the witch might be thinking of rescue or taking hostages. He thought she had been too secretive to have many allies, but he could not be sure he scotched her far-speaking in time. Colonel Perandorn and trader Olaughdour had official visitors. Hallistrad the firebrand spent the day reciting his list of friends and contacts two rooms over. 

Mrs. Keprand was sleeping in a cell with no windows. Her hands were bound behind her and her feet were also constrained. Nag Kath was admitted and watched her in the darkness. It wasn’t until late afternoon that he felt her waken. Like Chûr and he himself did, she was absolutely still. The giveaway is breathing. One cannot hide the change in breath.

He took a sip of the cold tea and said in Khandian, “You had a sound sleep, my lady. I hope you are more interested in pleasant conversation.”

Angrily, but not viciously, she responded, “You are ‘the Kath’?”

“I am. Now I would like you to tell me who you are.”

“You already know, traitorous orc!”

He held his chin, “No, I know your family. You are the very image of your great, great grandmother.” 

“What do you want?”

“I told you. I want you to tell me your name. Have no illusions that I will not get that and everything else I need to know. The dark lord has been purged from you. All of your associates are taken. You are alone.”

“My name is Chievon Mantouh. My mother was Vanteg Chûreth.”

That could not be right. Nag Kath searched his mind. He had dinner with her thirty-four years ago. She was eighteen then. If the woman wasn’t lying, she was at least fifty two. He asked, “Do you recall meeting me in Lhûg?”

“Barely.”

“I must say, you are holding-up quite well Mrs. Keprand. Mantouh was a first husband?”

“Yes.”

The Elf asked in his most soothing voice, “How is it you are as you are?”

“My first husband was born of the men you destroyed. He found me through my gifts and encouraged me, taught me how the vile ones sowed rancor and complacence against the rightful rulers.”

Nag Kath probed calmly, “And now you are on husband number two?”

“Three.”

“Tell me about number two?”

She replied tersely, “No. My cooperation ends here. Do what you will.”

He tried another tack. “What do you know of your great grandfather?”

“He was the rightful ruler of Mordor, now disgracefully called Nûrn.”

“I met him too.”

She said coldly, “You are an old evil, necromancer.”

Eh? “Not as old a some. Nulvanash …?”

“The Assured!”

He granted her that, “The Assured did not age either. Neither did his northern version, Varsiig. They had tokens of the Angmarach that were beyond their power to control.”

Chievon hissed, “You lie and will burn for that!”

“I have seen it. Your great grand-da had a ring of power.” That was bait. She would seize on his rightful tool of lordship.

She did, “He had a great ring, given by Sauron to bring our people to the true way!”

“No, my dear. He had a Dwarf Ring. I stole it and destroyed it. The Dwarves have only just forgiven me. It enhanced Nulvanash’s cruelty but made him fat and greedy for gold. Is that what you seek; gold?”

The woman was incensed. “How dare you, Uruk servant! Sauron himself made that ring!”

“Elves made the rings, except for The One. Nulvanash’s belonged to a Dwarf Lord who perished at the hands of the northern orcs. The Assured would have eventually become a wraith, a weak, pitiful creature. Here, I have a picture of one.”

Nag Kath reached for Frodo’s recollection of Gollum. He sat next to her and tried to show her but she turned away. That got her a blaze of yellow followed by a firm twist of her head to the ill-favored River Man. “That is what the rings did to those they didn’t kill. They were slaves. I WAS A SLAVE! 

“Now, you are going to tell me exactly what I want to know or you will perish like this. Do I make myself clear?!”

She looked at him with a combination of hate, fear and a touch of hope that her harsh education was not entirely accurate. The woman nodded meekly.

“Good. Are you thirsty?”

Another meek nod. Nag Kath unbolted her wrist-shackles and collected a skin of tea and a Lembas cake from his satchel. She sat demurely on her bed and nibbled the waybread. It did not make her retch. He sat in his own chair and waited. 

When she finished the small biscuit Nag Kath asked, “Now, tell me about your second husband.”

With satisfaction she proclaimed, “He is the Hûk Tulbar, High Lord of Chelkar!”

“What happened to Mantouh?”

“He surrendered me to a higher authority in obeisance.”

Nag Kath wondered how voluntary that was but let it lay. She was a proud woman, not as young as she looked, and needed to salve a conscience littered with regret. The Elf twisted the knife in a different direction, “And now you trade your body to pay for his ascension?”

It worked. “I do what is needed! When Harad is reunited and strong, we will deal with you, faithless orc!”

The Elf nodded to himself and said, “That’s what I figured. It might be a while. You will stay here until we have more questions.”

Her fierce conceit showed through again, “It is inevitable!”

Nag Kath said with no trace of emotion, “Tulbar’s head was taken twelve days ago by the traitor Wennig-Dûk. That is how we found you. Rellugh-Tur, Perandorn, everyone here, all dead or wishing they were. As I said, you are alone.”

_______________--------_______________

They let her sit. Men slid food through the door slot, just like they had for him. The lamp burned out. On the second day she threw the last of Morgoth’s power to break the door. It bounced back off the Elf’s hidden wards, singeing her eyebrows and the edges of her hair, a fire witch. No man was allowed in. They did not have the protection. Neither did Inariel. He would not bring her home until he was sure the sorceress didn't have operatives waiting to settle scores.

Nag Kath returned the third morning with new lamp and a fresh privy bucket. Breaking her would start in earnest today. In Khandian, “Good morning, Mrs. Keprand.” The burns on her captivating face were already healed, surrounded by a halo of frazzled hair-tips. 

There was no response. “Or is it still Mrs. Tulbar?”

As if he was checking off lines on the most routine inventory list, “That’s what I thought. We took the Lostorin out of Keprand’s blood. I can imagine how you lured him to your service.”

“Imagine what you will. Your treason to your heritage makes you beneath consideration!”

“Oh, so you are speaking today.” 

Then he was silent until she said, “You know everything. Why do you not kill me like the others and have done with this spectacle?!”

“Because Vanteg Chûr was my friend. And in a cell just like this one, he convinced me he was redeemable. I thought to give you the same opportunity. You are not doing as well." He shifted and added as if an administrative matter, “There is also something I need to know. How were you given the black spirit?”

She said by rote, “I do not know what you speak of, necromancer.”

She probably didn’t. “I removed the essence of a dark one from you. How did you get it?”

Her haughty demeanor returned, “Make sense! I was born with my gifts.”

Nag Kath came down hard. “You were born with the same weak gifts as Nulvanash. Yours were enhanced by sorcery. Either that was your doing or someone who did not tell you. I will discover this, and you will help me, or I will hand you to the Korb Chelkar refugees who will ask in their own fashion. Am I clear?!”

She finally broke. He remembered her as a sweet, quiet child. There may have been seething darkness but it had not come to the surface yet. Her family was strong and sufficient and ate dinner together to talk about the children’s happiness. It is always possible to turn from that. Dark lords must turn from that completely. But in a daughter of man, some element remains, be it as small as a gureeq seed. Only Elf ears could have heard the voice that murmured, “I was twelve. A terrible force passed through me. I kept it to myself. Mother felt something too, perhaps grandfather. I did not tell her.” She started crying, “I did not tell anyone! 

“After you came, I married Mantouh who knew me for what I was. He taught me, used me, brought me to his purpose. I aged very slowly. When I was thirty-five, he joined the great leader who took me for himself. I was taught and used and remade yet again. When I was forty, another terrible burst of darkness ripped through me. I was nearly dead. Slowly, I was returned and bound to his destiny.”

That was as much as she had. She was sobbing inconsolably now. Nag Kath knew to say nothing, knew there would be time later for rebuilding. He also did his sums. She was about twelve years-old when the mithril band was dented in Thân zîrân. He felt the power. Had some escaped to witches and sorcerers as well? That would have been about the time the Seer in Angmar got strong and the boy sorcerer was born.

She was forty when he smashed the Witch-stone. The healer said it doubled her over. Others were said to have perished along with thousands of ghosts prowling their graveyards. Did she think that was his necromancy? That which did not kill her and slew her rivals made her stronger still. Powers rising from earth, air and water find a carrier. With fewer creatures to receive, the more survivors get. The changeling had one more question, “Chievon, you must tell me of Tulbar's powers. Did they combine with yours?”

“Yes. His are not strong. You said my great grandfather had a ring. Tulbar had me. He said I must come here, prepare his way. I came. I did what I had to because his lands have little iron. Others came too, to awaken the weak Gondor and alert them to their doom.”

Nag Kath stood and said, “And your sister?

“She had no talent and married well, better than me.”

He told her, “I will return soon. Better food will be brought and a change of clothes. Do not harm the bringers. You cannot escape.”

_____________-------____________

King Eldarion was fuming. He had waited patiently. Only Danzail knew about the interrogation. Nag Kath arrived late for his own meeting. After taking a seat the King demanded, “I have questions. The first is; what have you done with my sister?!”

“She is staying with Prince Barahir, My Lord.”

“Lovely company. Do you want to explain why?”

“Yes, Sire, I do. It will take some time.”

The King continued tersely, “There is no time like the present.”

Nag Kath offered, “Thank you, sir, gentlemen.” The regulars were there in addition to Foreign Minister Franscieth. “The tale begins on the day you were first shown to the public on the anvil. I was with your royal parents and saw the heir to the King of the Mordor Visitors, a man who should have been dead three times. Have you heard that story My Lord?”

Eldarion said more evenly, “The man with the magic ring, yes?”

“Yes, Sire. Chûr was his unacknowledged son; just another refugee but he had small powers. I took him to Khand to meet his mother who was instrumental in our victory against the Witch-king’s disciples. There he was embraced by the Right-living order that weakened dark forces on the Pelennor.” Everyone else around the table was enthralled. They may have heard bits and pieces but this was the first time they got it from the horse’s mouth. It also ended their seduction by his youthful appearance.

“Well, Sire, gentlemen, the man married, raised children who raised their own. One of his grand-daughters had considerable sorcery. She was abducted by a dark adherent and eventually made concubine to the Hûk causing distress now. The sorceress received a boost of power when Morgoth’s mithril band was damaged or melted. She is the witch controlling Keprand and Hallistrad, probably others from considerable distance.

“I removed the Dark Foe’s essence from her just as Gandalf removed mine. That was the only thing that saved her when the Witch-stone was destroyed, again, like I was spared when the One Ring was unmade. She only looks half her age of 52.” 

He passed her picture around the table. The men looked at the remarkable face quite a while. There were a thousand questions waiting to blurt-out but the King said nothing so no one else did either. "To get this information I took some liberty with the truth, saying her master was betrayed and dead, along with many we are arresting now.” The Elf leaned on his elbows and became graver, “What really matters is that she is his ring. She enhanced Tulbar’s small sorcery. I have broken Morgoth’s grip, but she is still a witch of the kind we seldom see in the world today. I warded her cell to keep her from escaping. They will not hold long. I suggest to you gentlemen that the woman may offer more use alive than dead, but I must respect your decision.” 

He added softly, "I am the sworn-enemy to these villains for a century. She could poison the mind of anyone close to us, even from miles away …” He became even graver, “ … hence her Ladyship's vacation." With that he waved his silver palm towards the faces around the table. They knew they had been tested. They knew they had passed.

Eldarion, clean-shaven among the bearded men, held his chin and pondered a moment before breaking the pall, “Well, that is our first report of the day. Gurald, what say you?”

Minister Franscieth took his cue, “I spoke to the Elector of Umbar. Without saying as much, they are concerned. Our toehold in Harondor is weak also, but not worth their taking, lest it upset the trading advantages they enjoy with Your Highness’ Peace. I did not get the impression they were raising troops to reinforce their borders.”

Guardi Chief Duramhir was next. “The men we apprehended are singing like nightingales. We have a sizeable list of those who have given funds for this foul enterprise. Some are more contrite than others. I will leave it to the Magistry to decide whether it is treason or an opportunity to contribute towards a more just and lasting realm. Perhaps that will be based on cooperation?”

Everyone at the table thought that masterfully stated. On the quiet side of the Guardi service, Danzail added, “A few high persons fell on their swords or over switchback rails. One of those was Colonel Perandorn. Mr. Keprand was guilty of lusting after the Khandian morsel, but his mind was disordered by sorcery and he recalls almost nothing of, well, almost anything. He is under house-arrest. A daughter in Pelargir has been summoned for his care.”

It was General Todl’s turn, “We have no information about how the Southrons knew of heightened training. It could have come from a hundred men planning their autumn or ordering arrows.” He shook his head muttering, “Far-speaking? Perandorn’s son was posted along the Mering, so, not in effective range of the Swertings. I have sent for him. His military career is over. 

“Sire, in addition to the company of your royal sister, Prince Barahir was been informed of activity along his borders. That, I suppose, leads to my colleague …” 

He looked at Templeblan who nodded and began, “Lord Kath was good enough to read some of the shipping crates in Osgiliath. Foundries in North Ithilien were well paid by persons claiming to be from our army to make sword blanks and other quality steel from our new friend the smelter. Those were ferried to the city or further south and then shipped on the Harnen River to Amrûn. 

“As Mr. Duramhir shared; they raised a lot of money from your subjects, Sire. We are discouraging that and asking questions. Through Mr. Duramhir’s good office, most folk are cooperating hoping to salvage their necks. The day after we started, a large shipment arrived at Mr. Rellugh-Tur’s warehouse. General Todl said he would find use for it.”

Eldarion relented, shaking his head, “Nag Kath, I suppose I deserve what you wrought. What conclusions have you?”

“Thank you, Sire. The Hurms of Mordor would not sell their enemy iron from inside the Nûrnen. We should reward such wisdom. This will greatly help us secure our borders but will not stop Hûk Tulbar from seizing the entire Chelkar River Valley in a year’s time. His only possible move from there is Imladrim which gives him access to the navigable Harnen and the sea, and more arms. His every step takes him closer to your lands in Harondor or overland to the Poros and Ithilien. Sooner or later, you will have to fight him. My Lord has to decide when and where, that or remove him.”

Eldarion asked gravely, “And the woman?”

“I have more questions.”

The changeling went to his apartments down the corridor and wrote a letter to Emyn Arnen. Inariel could come home with her escorts and her questions to loving arms. A note delivered on the way by would tell Gred Ilvest that the kitchen vendors were welcome to return early if they wanted. Both would go the moment they left his hand. He had a bath and wondered what to do about Chievon. In the end, he would do what he always did and ask her what she wanted, after he said her lord and master was still his usual, vicious self.

To offset that he would introduce her to a very brave little girl.

_______________-----______________

Corporal Hanieru was using his purse of groats judiciously. He was still at the south wall but found an apartment and was now in the business of repairing masonry. Nag Kath found him easily. The man bowed and called his son to help with language. The lass watched from the door in her new blouse and skirt with real shoes. That the Harad shared his bounty with his crippled girl-child was heartening. 

The men sat on a pile of bricks to be moved to the second-level on their new donkey. The changeling said, “I am glad to see you are all well. You have every right to refuse, but I would like to borrow your daughter to meet one of those who caused your difficulty. I think this person can be made to help now.”

Father and son spoke in their dialect and the son asked for his da, “Is this dangerous, best of sirs?”

“A little. She is in gaol now.”

It was unfair. After all his child had been through, asking her to relive that horror might make it worse. On the other hand, the tall man kept them from starving. Life has risks. Hanieru looked at his daughter who ran over and told her in their tongue, “Hailu, the sir wants you to go with him. He says it will help our friends. I will leave it to you.”

Hailu scanned all three sets of eyes before shyly asking, “Father, would mother want me to?”

“Yes, child. Mother would want you to.”

“Then I will go with the sir.” She looked at Nag Kath and asked gleefully, “Can we have cane rolls after, best of sirs?”

“Why not?”

The tall Elf held the tiny refugee’s wounded hand up the switchback to the Guardi headquarters on the third. He asked Danzail to see the sorceress in the courtyard. 

She had changed to the fresh clothes. Nag Kath said, “Chievon, I have something to tell you and someone I want you to meet.”

The prisoner sat on a bench positioned at an angle to where her captor and the youngster sat. He added in Khandian, “I lied. Tulbar lives. The others are in our hands but the Hûk is still on the Chelkar.”

Everything else he said was so believable. She supposed it did not make much difference. He was there and she was here. She had lost much of the power he drew from her, a wearing exchange from this distance. She could not see his mind through the wind-speaker in his camp. Tulbar had other women. The witch had passed once more to a man for what she brought. She felt very tired.

When the sorceress did nothing, Nag Kath continued in Westron, “Hailu, this is Chievon. She is a lady from Khand.” 

The Child bowed her head and said, “Greetings, best of ladies.”

Nag Kath used a tone to make children comfortable, “Hailu moved here because bad men killed her mother and hurt her.” Chievon had not noticed much in her despondency but now looked at the girl’s mangled hand. She closed her eyes. What good could come of using them?

Hailu asked, “Beautiful lady, why are you sad?”

The sorceress wiped her eyes with her sleeve and said in misery, “Because I have lost so much.” 

The girl would help, “The sir takes me for cane sweets. Best of sirs, can she come too?”

“Yes, I think that would be lovely.”

The two guardi stayed discreetly back as the trio walked to a little shop only four doors down. Hailu got a length of sweet cane. The two adults had tea. It was too hot so they kept blowing across the surface while the child made a mess of her good hand. The tea eventually cooled, they drank it, and returned to the Guardi headquarters. As Chievon was led back to her cell, Nag Kath said, “I will take her home. In a bell I need you to tell me what you will make of the rest of your life. That case I will present to the King.”

It took almost that long to return Hailu, wash her face and remove a couple wards he had protected her with. Chievon was brought to the courtyard where Nag Kath was already sitting on the bench. She stopped a few feet away and said resolutely, “I choose to live. I want no part of this curse. But I will not betray anyone. Both sides must get on without me. Tell that to the Elessar and I will wait.”

With that she turned and walked back past the guards.

_____________-------_____________

“Thank you for seeing me, Sire.”

It was nearing the end of the day. Eldarion was indulging in a goblet of the pale Belfalas after long toil. His guest had tea. The King walked over to the low table and sat knowing the changeling would do the same. He put his goblet down and said gravely, “All decisions come to me. I am glad I do not have to make this one when Ithilien is in flames. We consider ways to dissuade the Hûk from his ambitions. Now, what of the woman?”

“She said she wants to live but will not fight for either side, wants to be quit of the gift that became a curse. Without Morgoth there is no seething. Your father met Chûr before he made his decision. That is open to you, but she is more powerful. Chievon is being held at the Guardi on the third.”

“I will consider that. Your wife just returned. Go to her and let her know she is safe.”

Inariel already knew she was safe but it was time for her man to speak. He told her everything. It brought him no succor. Inariel curled up on the couch and he put his arm around her shoulder. Knowing he was mostly listening, she talked about the Prince and Princess, their children and grandchildren, Barahir had finally started on his secret lore project and asked her questions about her mother and father. It was conversation meant to let her husband think. 

When he smiled with distraction, she swung her leg over to straddle his lap and held his face, “You have served my brother as you served my father. Your service was not loathsome and disdained.” She softened, “I am very proud of you. This is not solved. We may be called for more.” She kissed him. And as long as she was in this position, she kissed him again.

The King thought long and hard that night. He had to prosecute, exile or execute any number of Shadow traitors in the months ahead. Most would cooperate. Some would flee. Some would be examples. It was a part of kingship he did not enjoy. After long consideration, he did not need to see the sorceress. The Kath’s were asked to attend Lord Eldarion with porridge. He had them sit at the table and said, “I read the notes from when I was a babe. Father Aragorn made you fix the mess. Now you can do so again. On the table sits a pardon. Do what you will with her. And thank you for your faith. Know that I never take it lightly, Lord Kath.” He winked at his baby sister, “Glad you are back, dear.”

____________------____________

“What are we going to do with a witch?”

“We have three more levels to decide, my love.”

Inariel tried to be helpful, “What does she want to do? What can she do?”

“Well, I don’t know what she wants to do. She used to cast evil spells. Tal would make a match for her except she has three husbands. The first gave her to the second and the second married her to the third who probably doesn’t remember.”

The Princess offered, “Can she stay with friends?”

“They are all being arrested.”

Guardi are not used to royal Princesses dropping by the station. There was a mad scramble to bow and look useful. Mentier heard the commotion and walked out with a bow of his own. “My dear, this is Mr. Mentier who was very helpful. Mr. Mentier, this is my wife; the Princess Inariel.”

“Ma’am.”

Nag Kath handed him the pardon. He looked it over and said, “Perhaps you could step into Mr. Danzail’s office?” He walked them to the only two chairs other than Danzail’s and said he would find him on the double. He did and the quiet-side man went through the same round of introductions before reading the pardon. This was properly a matter for the magistry, but given the parties involved, he would be glad to forward it to them. 

Two Guardi walked Chievon out the front door. She blinked in the sun after darkness. When her eyes adjusted, she did not bow. Was it possible she had no idea who the defiler of Ûniarra Nûrn had married? If so, it should stay that way. He walked up to her and said, “Vanteg Chievon, this is my wife Inara. Inara, this is Chievon.”

They ladies gave each other a slight bow. Chievon was still scattered. The Elf offered, “The King has pardoned you. You are free to go home or do what you want. Have you given that any thought?”

“Um, no. I thought I would be executed.”

Noblewomen are trained to calm situations, unless they are trying to inflame them. Her Ladyship said gaily, “That will never do. Let us all have tea.” They walked up a level to the Silver Ladle, the same respectable restaurant Nag Kath where bounced the drunk off the ceiling. Inariel was wearing one of her plain outfits with no hints of the seventh-level. Every patron in the room sneaked peeks at the two pretty women together with the pretty man. 

Having the spirit of a dark lord dragged out of you takes a while to get over. At least Nag Kath was used to it. Chievon seemed alright when she was walking but unsteady when sitting. The Elf told the server, “Why don’t you bring us a large lunch to share?”

It was out quickly and the Khandian lady ate like she hadn’t for a week, which was close to the case. Seeing her orc husband desperately trying not to say something stupid, Inariel repeated his question, “Now that you are free, what would you like to do?”

“I do not know. No one has ever asked me that before. You do not eat?”

Inara answered, “We just had porridge. Have you thought where you might stay?”

That was another question from the blue. All of her things were at the Keprand house. Her welcome there would not be cordial, possibly fatal. The beauty said, “No, I cannot go to my old home. I was seldom allowed to leave except to shop for herbs or clothing. Aumpough was my minder. Is he taken?”

Nag Kath asked, “Which one was he?”

“Tulbar’s cousin, enforcer of his Lord’s will.” She added, “Bodyguard at the gate.”

He shook his head. They should have nabbed him first. “No, I think he got away. It was his night off.” 

Chievon thought about that for a moment, “He will return to the Chelkar with news of this. My pulse to Harad was severed. They will think I am dead. That is good, I suppose.”

Nag Kath thought he would gather information since he had an opening, “And the tall woman?”

“She is the head maid. Aumpough threatened her too.”

Inariel tried. When a luncheon guest’s best option is being thought dead in the eyes of murderous Swertings, topics familiar to ladies of the court dwindle. Chievon asked, "Did you remove Keprand’s anchor spell?”

“I did. It was strong.”

The witch looked at the ceiling, “Mantouh had me tutored by a woman of Ancalimon before I was offered as tribute to Tulbar. She could throw fire also.”

“Is that what the compound Nieutul does?” That was the mixture he hadn’t heard of at the kitchen shop.

“Yes … and to hold wards longer if you use the blood pulse.

The Princess listened silently. Here were two sorcerers talking like cooks comparing spices, which, in their perverse way, they were. It put them no closer to what the Kath family was going to do with the creature. Her husband saved the day by saying, “Chievon, I know a firm that can put you up for a while.”

“Put you up?”

“Find lodgings for you. Let us go there and find you a place to stay.”

Still a bit dazed she muttered, “Yes, thank you, the Kath. Do we go to there now?”

They walked over to the Kathen office not a hundred paces away. Lasthlo was at the desk. As they walked in the door, the Elf, standing behind the two women put his finger to his lips. The young man did bow to the Princess but that went unnoticed by the Khandian exquisite. The tall friend said, “Good day, Mr. Conath. I was hoping you could recommend a place for Mrs. Chievon to stay, somewhere furnished, and discreet? She is new here.”

Lasthlo was nobody’s fool. If Uncle Nag was here with his wife, he wasn’t trying to cushion the little stunner in a love nest. He also knew the Elf was up to something. “Why yes, Mr. …” and stopped realizing it could be Kath or Solvanth. 

“It is Mr. Kath, young man.”

“Forgive me, sir. I have a very nice apartment on the south-side fourth.” It was the building above Hallistad’s – almost directly below Keprand’s.

The Elf said, “I think that would be splendid. Mrs. Chievon, would you like me to have the guardi impound your possessions and store them at your new home?”

She brightened, showing the face that haunted, "Oh yes, that would be most appreciate!"

Lasthlo interjected, "That’s number 212, Mr. Kath. Mrs. Chievon, if you will follow me.”

All four were leaving the little office when Nag Kath gave Lasthlo a signal to wait a moment. He handed the Variagah a small purse saying, “This may tide you over until you decide your future.”

She held it like it could not be real. Tears were close. She whispered, “Why?”

“Because someone did it for me.” He kissed her on the forehead and gave Lasthlo a wink to follow. As they left, the Kaths made one more trip to the Guardi with a repeated comedy of bowing and scraping. The Elf asked Danzail to impound all of Mrs. Keprand’s things as evidence and store them in apartment 212 at 118 Ciryandil Row on the fourth, pending review by the magistry. 

Walking back up to the seventh, Inariel asked, “How do you live like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”


	16. Voices in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters in italics on on a different timeline than the main theme.

**_Voices in the Wind_ **

**The Map of Harmendor will help with this book<https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>**

_**Voices in the Wind**_

**_Chapter 16_ **

****

_Youneg’s finger was throbbing. Badly broken three days ago; swollen, weeping. Infection had set. A slave of the Umbar corsairs, he could not expect aid, medicine or sympathy. Maneg saw him trying to grip his shovel but it was a losing battle._

_Overseer Graph sauntered over brandishing his whip and growled, “Taking a break, are we?”_

_The twelve men of the crew immediately tried to look even busier. They were dredging rocks from the water’s edge of the great Anduin River in Ithilioch to dock raiding and grain ships. Here on the south bank there were few natural eddies so the little spur of rock jutting into the channel was the only foothold for twelve miles. It did tend to catch silt and boulders pushed from the ruins of Osgiliath by spring floods. These men and nine crews like them toiled every moment in such as might be called daylight. At least there was enough food for an evening meal._

_At twilight, when the Star of Sauron came into view despite his oppressive clouds, men trudged back to the campsite for boiled wheat and whatever greens and roots the women could scavenge from the soil. In the days when western men controlled these lands, crops were plentiful. Even now they were easier to find than in the grasslands of the Upper Harnen river-mouth where Youneg and Maneg were conscripted. It was their year 832 of the Amur Rising – which should have been auspicious. Only a few knew it was the Ghondor year 2980 of the Third Age._

_Maneg was a compassionate man. He had a terrible decision to make; pitting the health of his best friend against the safety of his family. Maneg would let his wife make that choice and said to Youneg, “Let us have Marah look at that hand.”_

_Youneg sighed in relief. He would likely lose the hand in two days, and his life shortly after. There were so few townsmen of Grefel left. His hope was tempered by guilt. Charity was a knife at the throat of his childhood friend’s family. Youneg walked past his own barracks tent to where Maneg, Maneg’s wife and their daughter shared a straw pallet with a real blanket. Hurrying to arrive sooner than the crew, Maneg looked at his careworn bride who had spent the day among the fourteen women making the laborers’ single meal._

_The injured man slowly pulled his hand from his jacket. Marah glanced at her husband for confirmation and adopted a false smile as she walked to Youneg. Taking his hand in both of hers she said, “How nice of you to visit us.”_

_As she did, the color in her face drained away. Bloodless lips managed, “I am glad to see you.”_

_Youneg gratefully said the same and bid them a good evening in the way men of Harnoran are taught. Marah watched him leave. When she was sure he was well-enough away, she stepped outside the tent and retched-up every bite of food she had stolen making the gruel._

_Healing was punishable by death, if you were lucky. The weak should die. Falling out of the line marching to Ghondor from their home brought the same fate. Most of the time she or Maneg carried little Niefahra knowing wolves followed close behind. The one-hundred twenty-three men and women now in this nameless camp were enslaved when their Captain lost his nerve and ran from joining the infantry demanded by the Nazgul Lord. Survivors were herded into a coffle and herded here for forced labor. A third of them made it._

_Here, specifically, was ninety miles south of the Gondoran capital of Minas Tirith on the lower bank of the Great River. The northerlings had been driven from these lands long ago. Now their Rangers and regular troops watched from the north bank, occasionally lobbing ballistae when they were bored. Umbar held sway below and woe betide those who claimed otherwise. A terrible life. They knew no better._

_Four days later Youneg’s hand had healed enough to pull his share on the drag-rope. Men had to wade in the cold current, tied by lines, to wrap nets around the larger stones in the flow. Then they would climb back on the bank and haul them up to form the beginnings of a breakwater for corsair transports to load what was grown from these fields for the mouths of Mordor._

_The next rock in the line was slippery with no corners to grab, the bottom third buried in mud. Perhaps a foot and a half across, it would take three of them to submerge their heads and dig a gap near the bottom to slip the net around the back; a bit like a slingshot. Wiry Igno got the unenviable job of staying under to make sure the net stayed in place while the others snugged the tackle. Then those four plus the upstream crew gathered to haul the rope._

_The stone pulled loose with a ‘squaghk’ and dragged up the gravel. It was something to see. Perfectly round, perfectly black, it was so smooth the sun reflected no matter where one stood. River stones are often slick but this seemed polished. They admired it so long, the next thing Proboh noticed was a whip cracked along his neck. It hurt, but in winter clothes the knotted end did not cut the skin. Graph growled again, “Get to it!”_

_Igno was the first to roll the stone into position. After a tentative push he screamed his hands were burned. The others ran over to look at his palms. None of these desert men knew of extreme cold, but the wounds were like when a warrior grasps freezing steel and finally frees his fingers. Graph wandered over with more threats of violence but saw there was trouble and demanded to know of it._

_Igno whined, “Touched the thing and it burned my hands!”_

_“What’s that to me?”_

_“Nothing.” The men reattached the drag rope and hauled the orb over to the other rocks before starting on the next._

_Maneg didn’t dare have Marah tend Igno’s hands, but they seemed to heal on their own. Father did explain the curious stone in the river to his wife and daughter. Niefahra was now twelve. A quiet, careful child, she would grow to a beautiful woman, if she lived. Women of their homeland were often taller than neighboring provinces for being the last stronghold of the Numenoreans before they became legend._

_Being beautiful here was not a blessing among a hundred desperate, lonely men. Her da was a tough fighter who got here in one piece, but there were so many. Marah hoped as much as she dared that her only child could somehow live forever._

_Like most children, even slaves, Niefahra needed stimulation. She waited until her parents were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion before creeping down to the river’s edge. There it was; so sleek in its blackness that the moon seemed to shine only on it. She approached it cautiously. It seemed smarter than other stones, a curious notion, but how else could it be explained? Father hadn’t mentioned Igno burning his hands. That might not have stopped her from placing her own delicate palms on the stone._

_They began to glow. A few moments later a face emerged in the center of the orb almost as if looking through a real-glass door-window after an unexpected knock. He was a high lord as one heard in the stories of the Duneishda. The noble stared but did not seem to see her. That image faded and was replaced by an elderly cove with long white hair, entirely draped in cream-colored gowns. His bony fingers reached as if for Niefahra’s entire head but did not come through the surface of the stone. Then he too dissolved into blackness._

_There was no preparing for the Eye, the eye of a terrible, wild creature. It had a ring of fire around the pupil. Niefahra was frightened but her hands were bound to the black stone. A voice unanchored by lips spoke in a queer language. Though not her tongue, she somehow understood, “You will come to me.”_

_The stone surrendered no more images. Her hands were free. She turned to look at her palms in the moonlight. They were unharmed. As quietly as she came, Niefahra snuck back to the tent and curled next her beloved mother._

___________-------___________

_At high sun the next day two riders, cloaked in black, came at a gallop from the direction of Minas Morgul. Their lathered horses were black as well. Even a mile away, men quivered and stopped working. Graph was about to lay-on the leather when he realized why everyone was staring. In the relative scheme of cruelty, he was much closer to the bottom than the top._

_Brevet-fighter Fidrone, a junior Umbari with a miserable first posting, was called in haste and ran out as the two Nazgul dismounted. All knelt, most staying down with heads in the dirt. Fidrone, at least, walked to the two specters before bowing and straightened for orders._

_One of the specters hissed, “Who summons us in the dark of night?”_

_“I am sorry, My Lord. No one here has issued such a call.”_

_The other of the nine said curtly, “We will see.” Both of them walked among the cowering laborers inspecting them closely. Groveling Igno was told to bare his palms. The shorter of the Nazgûl sniffed quivering hands and suddenly raised him in the air by the throat growling, “Explain!”_

_Igno couldn’t do anything but choke so the fallen King placed him on the ground but kept his gauntlet around the neck. The scrawny slave had the presence of mind to say, “I pushed that rock, but it was during the day!”_

_Graph nodded in confirmation. Returned to irrelevance, the slave was released. Both hooded Nazgul walked to the stone some fifty feet away and sniffed at that too. No one could have seen their eyes, even if they had them. One hissed, “Females!”_

_The slaves and whip-bearers of the gang could not protect the women from men, never mind Ring-wraiths. Graph pointed back to the camp where the poor ladies were boiling stew water with scant wood. They were forced to stand in line while the creatures studied them._

_Marah closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Why has she helped Youneg?! This would be the death of all. The second Ring-wraith stopped and considered her slowly. “Noooo … there is another.”_

_Still sniffing, they turned towards four children standing in fear and awe of the famed black riders. Three bolted in panic. One little girl stood where she was, too frightened to move. A Nazgul reached out for her hand almost gently and released it. The child was told to sit in the shade of the Lieutenant’s tent. Laborers brought her food and water. By nightfall, a single-masted haraugh sailed upriver and tied to a spike at the soon-to-be breakwater. The slave and the stone were loaded onboard and they cast off with the flow._


	17. Fallout

**Chapter 17**

**Fallout**

Fallout took time. Harondor authorities inspected shipments going up the River Harnen. That could only include vessels docking in the small Gondoran port of Gobel Míthlond. Back home, militias would spend extra time on old-fashioned line drilling. Men of the Mûmikil breeding region below Umbar were told to treat their old allies suspiciously. Several large, established trading firms along the Anduin were instantly out-of-business and the properties auctioned off with proceeds to the crown or Principality. Some of the King's best visited the Mordor Hurms to warn against the Southrons. The despots already knew their peril since they might also be on Tulbar’s menu, but appreciated a new round of gifts. Righters offered anonymous ideas on who was naughty as well. New Shadows over the Reunited Kingdom were squelched.

It was only June. Both Barahir and his son Tyaldran brought their wives to the White City for a council about the southern border. Nag Kath was asked in for very specific details on troop formations, tactics and gear. Gondor’s troops stood ready to defend Gondor, but that presumed the Swertings would conquer Harondor first, not something to be given away meanly. Advisory troops would try to whip the lazy protectorate into some sort of cohesion. Umbar would protect their side of the Harnen but no further east or north. There was not much time for lore, though the Prince and Princess of Ithilien dined with the Kath’s twice while they were there. 

Nag Kath dropped by Chievon’s place at least once a week for the first couple months. She was learning on her own about Minas Tirith and already knew quite a bit about money. The sorceress never pilfered any of the cash that came through their organization so what Nag Kath gave her was all she had. It was quite a bit, plus a pair of small diamonds. It would keep her for years. She did not hire servants. Her clothes arrived but that was all she got from the house. Old Keprand had been poorly in the last year. He never left his home again. When he died three months later, his children, estranged because of his marriage to the unsuitable foreigner, quickly returned. Chievon made no claim so they forgot her. Since the only people who knew Chievon were dead or exiled, she had a fairly fresh start. Inariel hoped she would choose well if opportunity knocked.

___________--------___________

Now that the shadow of Southron operatives skulking across from Mrs. Briel’s boardinghouse was gone, the Kaths spent more time at his house. As often as not, Lady’s maid Hilta came too. One sunny day, the Princess’ husband took her outside and downstairs for her first look at the first floor. It boasted an unimpressive stack of boxes and a large stove protected by a massive warding spell.

Her Highness said over-politely, “Nag, this is quite lovely. Why are we here?”

“Your birthday is soon, I have something for you.”

She looked at the dusty floor joists above wondering what he was about. But she had learned her Elf had a vast reserve of surprises. He stabbed at the bottom of the stove with a Klaus staff, knocking the hardening soil away from the front edge. When a large patch of it flaked-off in one piece, Nag Kath got on his knees and reached in. Inariel hoped her present wasn’t a rat. 

It wasn’t. He removed a soiled cloth bundle and tucked it under his arm before showing her up the internal stairs to the main living space. In the bundle were two smaller bags. One he dropped on the table with the unmistakable clank of gold. The Elf unwrapped the second very delicately. The outer layer was the same dirty brown sackcloth. Next was a thick layer of swaddling. Inariel stood near with eyes fixed as Nag Kath carefully unwound an inner white bag and withdrew the Elvish hair circlet. 

He placed it on her head with both hands and said “I have had this for one hundred and thirty years. I believe it is pure mithril. I found it in a wall in Orthanc and Gandalf gave it to me when I left to make my way in the world. I never told my wives because I never wanted them to feel I wished they were Elves. They were women and I loved them as such; deeply and completely. I hope you like it.”

It fit beautifully. Inara ran like a child to the large mirror upstairs. She was an Elvish Princess, just like in the stories. She wished her mother could see her. Nag Kath slipped in behind her and kissed her neck, “Happy Birthday, my dear.”

The harvest came early followed by more intense militia training than the Kingdom had seen in generations. Tactics and formations were specific for known Southron battles. Nag Kath got Corporal Hanieru a favorable position advising the strategists how Tulbar tended to overrun a position and then fall back to loot his winnings. That might work against peasant militias but not cavalry. Horsemen practiced for that too. Nag Kath worked three of the four sessions in Minas Tirith and one in Ithilien, primarily on Orlon. Six of his three or four-times great-grandsons were in the call-ups. It wasn’t just here. Lebennin saw dirtier soldiers trudging home after training too. Nag Kath prayed it would not come down to central Belfalas holding the line. 

Autumn folded into winter. Delandreth and Hastor had their Syndolan party and they saw all generations of the family often. News from Dol Amroth was good as well. Nag Kath sent several letters to the family in Dale after he left the ice cave but never heard back. That troubled him less as the years rolled by.

Being almost neighbors, they saw Chievon from time to time. She joined them for tea in January. Her Westron was improving. She made a friend who did embroidering and was about the age she looked. They went shopping occasionally. The witch even learned how to tell a funny story. She went to the herb shop and the young lady nearly fainted. Her father came out with his sword and she convinced them that she was not dangerous and promised not to buy tulus. The beauty even giggled telling it.

Nag Kath probed, “Chievon, what powers do you have left?”

She furrowed those delicate eyebrows, “Confuse … make to not think is weak. Never so good as you – but still far-speak a few miles. Still bring to me.” She flexed her hand and Inariel's spoon flew across the table into her palm. "Uhm, fire is strong."

Her fellow sorcerer asked, "You use the Nieutul drug and draw through?"

"Oh no, for that you must store and send." Like the Druédain! He had been doing it backwards. She didn't notice his bewilderment and continued, “Cats are not scared away now. That was Melkor the Morgoth?”

“Nasty brute! Do other women in your line have powers?”

“Ummm, no. I left Lhûg when I married so I do not know them very well. My cousin Andriesh had two boys. The Nhat-Khiel girls were very small.”

“Nhat-Khiel?”

“My cousin Tishah’s daughters. She was already married when you met me.” 

Unlike many of the women in Nag Kath’s past, Inariel did not have a matchmaking bone in her body. Even she wondered about Chievon’s prospects. On the face of it, the woman was healthy, well-dressed and not poor. She might be too good looking. Inariel had never needed to fend-off unwanted attention. For Chievon; she thought setting men on fire was probably effective. Working against was; being a witch, being twice as old as she looked and concubine to a Haradrim warlord against the interests of the King. With two living husbands, eligible suitors might be few and far between.

As usual, the Uruk said something beyond outrage, “Chievon, you should get a divorce.”

Impossible at her station in life, Inariel wondered why these things came out of his mouth. Chievon asked, “Do you mean; sunder the union?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“Why, best of sirs?” Except for tribute women, where she was from someone usually had to die.

His fourth wife was ready for that one too. He explained, “Because you are lovely and there may be men with good hearts who would court you but will not because you belong to another. With a public declaration that you are free of bondage, you state your availability to the right sort of gentleman.”

She thought about that and said, “That makes much sense. Would I need to divorce them all?”

“Only Mantouh. Our laws would consider your marriages to Hûk Tulbar and Mr. Keprand were not valid.”

She smiled; a habit she had lost in servitude. “Yes, I see. How does one do such a thing?”

“I will have a gentleman contact you who arranges these matters.”

“Oh, the Kath. I am much appreciate!”

“My pleasure.”

Walking back to his house, the astonished Quenda granted, “I must hand it to you; that was a good idea. Are you worried that Harad spies will take a dim view?”

“They won’t know who Mantouh is. As things stand now, only the sort of man she does not need will be interested. I learned these things from the leading practitioners of their time.”

That got Inariel to thinking, “Why do you think she did not have children?”

“That could be for many reasons, all good. Most men with powers are not interested in intimacy. More importantly, she was possessed by a tiny part of the darkest lord. Her body may have warded itself against bearing a child with the wrong seed. Otherwise, we have to do this again.”

Again, her husband astonished. Inara took him home and snuggled against a coming storm. She would try walking on snow again. There were only a few flakes falling when Nag Kath visited the Notary to have a writ of separation filed against the husband who surrendered Chievon to his Lord. Since neither living husband had good references, it shouldn’t take long.


	18. Piersh

**_Chapter 18_ **

**_Piersh_ **

_Niefahra wept for her mother. Burned in her mind were Maneg and Marah, unable to even call to their child sure instant destruction would follow. Marah might already be condemned for the healing. No, the Ring-wraiths were not there to punish houlars among the slaves. They were sent by their master, highest of fell lords, because the child saw him. A possible servant. Someone with potential. A resource at need._

_None of the crew said anything as they sailed through the blackness down the Anduin. With the light she saw they were not really men, not like her doomed father was a man. They were wraiths, perhaps not even mortal. Any humanity, if they ever had it, was sunk beyond recall. The creatures spoke mind-to-mind, following the Nazgûls’ instruction to surrender the brat to the witch-lord Kamûl, now in Umbar. Once there she would help communicate instructions more easily with the black tower of Barad Dûr._

_As the tiny ship made its way with the current past the former northerling cities, she wondered of all the people who must have lived there, all the people like her mother who could do nothing about their fate. That was the way of things. Those with power used it ruthlessly. The man who whipped the slaves was himself a slave, subject to the same treatment by everyone above him until reaching the famed dark lord who lived above the black clouds of Mordor._

_For three weeks the crew did not stop, did not sleep, did not speak. Niefahra ate a handful of wheat berries at dawn and dusk, washed down by river water in a barrel – not much different than camp. Sometimes she asked them questions. It was as if she wasn’t there._

_On the fourth week, heavy weather forced the ship to veer into the Ethir Harnen, river-mouth of mighty Harad. Then, by the smallest of chances, a great Duneishda fleet bore down upon them from the north. The unnamed haraugh Captain finally yelled something in a harsh, oppressive tongue and all hands put every inch of sail out to flee. They were still no match for multi-masted warships pushed by waves from the salty sea._

_“What do you make of her?”_

_That was asked by a tall Duneishda standing next to the pilot of the flagship. The mariner answered with his hand shielding his brow against the rising sun,_ _“Not fishing.”_

_The Numenorean, Thorongil as he was known to the northern fleet, said gravely, “We have secret business in the south. Keep it secret.” The future King of the Reunited Kingdom left it to the Captain who ordered his ballista crews to fix on the fleeing haraugh. Turning to starboard, the port bank loosed both fire and bolt ballistae. One pitch missile caught the sail, incinerating it in fury. A blunt-headed bolt pierced the hull just above the waterline. They could sail straight but not turn to port without taking on water._

_The fire spreading on deck was a horror to the lifeless wraiths. Three of the six perished in flames as if they were made of pitch themselves. The other three were thrown over the side when the abandoned rudder was slapped by a wave and listed the haraugh on its side. When the mast snapped, the ship righted leaving only a terrified, singed little girl clutching a rope with bloodless fingers._

__________---------__________

_The crippled vessel drifted drunkenly for two days, nearly being swept out to sea, before running aground at the fishing village of Piersh on the south bank of the Ethir Harnen, vast river of Harad. Niefahra woke when stones scraped the hull. She gripped the gunwale and peeped over the rail at a dozen women hurrying to the shore. Late in the morning, most males between the ages of thirteen and sixty were behind her in deep water baiting hooks or casting nets._

_Haraugh’s are not great warships but it was much larger than anything returning to Piersh that afternoon. They could find use for it. When the ladies saw the child peering at them, they slowed but did not stop until reaching the hulk. One woman seized a bow-rope and tied it to stakes driven in the gravel. The oldest walked over to the pretty face saying, “Oh my poor child. Come, we must find you some food.”_

_Another of the fishwives shouted, “She’s mine!”_

_Hanulka lost her only child, a daughter, to the pox three years before. She had not conceived since. If Ulmush, capricious goddess of the tides, gushed-forth a replacement, the gift was hers! First, the grieving mother had to be sure this vision was not a fell sprite sent to torture shore-dwellers. Hanulka touched the child’s bare arm. It seemed flesh. Then she demanded, “What is your name, foundling?”_

_The tongue was close enough to her own that the driftling answered, “Niefahra.”_

_“Come along, then.”_

_Prize claimed, the others could argue over the wreck._

__________----------_________

_“What is the story with the hulk?!”_

_“Good afternoon, husband. It drifted in this morning.”_

_“Barely. It sank. Yul’s men were salvaging the boards – good timbers; some of them.”_

_“Goranthalu, we received a blessing from the wreck.”_

_The fisherman thought that promising and said, “Show me. Oh, got two grouper and half a dozen silver tullars. Lucky day!”_

_Hanulka retrieved the shy girl from the only other room and stood behind her with a desperate, pleading smile. Goran didn’t frown. He didn’t leap for joy either. Looking at his forlorn wife the man asked, “She was onboard?”_

_Hanu nodded._

_“Any others?”_

_She shook her head._

_Niefahra kept looking at the two. Hanulka finally said through tears, “My prayers have been answered. So you see, husband, we are not so far from favor from the sea!”_

_He smirked. Ulmush’s beneficent waters might have coughed-up a son to help pull nets and face into the wind when clouds were low. Still, he was fond of his wife and she seemed relieved after the unbearable loss in the year of plague. He knelt in-front of the castaway and stated, “We are to be your new parents.”_

_After a month among the undead, resolute Niefahra declared, “I have parents. They labor along the Anduin.”_

_Goranthalu was not a cruel man, but he was going to set the tone from that moment forward, “That means you are a slave, an escaped slave. You will be flayed alive for that. So might we if it became known. From this day forward, you will leave that part of your life behind and make what you can of your great good fortune. If anyone asks; anyone at all, you are an orphan we have taken-in. Do you understand?”_

_Niefahra nodded._

_“Good.” The man gave his wife a peck on the cheek after a safe return from the sea and asked, “Did she come with more than the rags on her back?”_

_Hanu considered that through her haze of nervous joy and shook her head. Not about to let that stand, the child announced, “My stone is still onboard.”_

_Vescal muttered, “It couldn’t have been a charm she wore around her neck!”_

_Goran borrowed several friends from the squalid tavern. All stared at the black orb sitting between two ribs on the shipwreck. The vessel would be completely dismantled by this time tomorrow in case the owner tried to claim it. The powerful Yul family would see they didn’t and no one was about to tell them otherwise. Individual boards have no provenance. It had been a good day and the men of the sea spent some of it on gureeq wine. Finally, Vescal spat, “Dougsh! Let us roll it over to Goran’s garden so his new daughter can have her rock!”_

_Ubier Jovu thought differently, “Nay; too many ruts. Wrap it with one of the broken fishing nets and we’ll drag it.” Fifteen minutes later, the keepsake was sitting in Hanu’s radish patch and the fishermen decided the exertion called for another mug, courtesy of Goranthalu._

_The reserved fisherman had a second reason to agree to his wife’s hasty adoption. The child would be much fairer than any of the urchins of Piersh. One of these days, and not that far away, some Ramlond officer, maybe even one from Umbar, would decide to decorate his home with her – benefiting the modest household of Goranthalu Bremo._


	19. Less Than Meets the Eye

**Chapter 19**

**Less Than Meets the Eye**

The Anduin flooded that spring. Fevers were mild and largely confined to the Anórien north plain. Nag Kath had a large tent erected for the ill. He asked Chievon to join him. She seemed to have no useable healing talent. That ran in the family. For several days she fetched towels and applied athelas compresses, some to men who thought their infirmity called for her extended care. It was over in ten days. Few died. Inariel would have gone but she was sick as well, no worse than the usual patient, but that wasn't Elvish. She was fine in a few days.

Spring in the north was time to move in the hotter south. Tidings reached Minas Tirith that Tulbar invested the fortress of Oud Ilaz, further downriver on the Chelkar. That put him at less than one-hundred miles from the strategic citadel of Amrûn, once the capital of Central Harad. It also put him at the likely mountain pass across Harondor towards the Poros River. 

More surprising news was that a like-minded warlord, one Hûk Sakûn, was consolidating lands along the eastern Harnen River. Sporadic refugees reported his host at twenty-thousand strong, now about eighty miles from Amrûn after seizing Korondaj. 

To be useful Nag Kath needed to understand the inland march to Ithilien refugees used to flee Chelkar battlegrounds. He knew little about that route, but he knew someone who did.

And, as had happened before, he was completely wrong.

The Elf invited the Hanierus to lunch at an out-of-the-way pub. The bricklayer was still on the army payroll though they hadn’t contacted him for months. He saw no need to mention that to the paymaster so Nag Kath wouldn’t either. 

The Corporal’s Westron had improved considerably. His son Fiershu’s common-tongue was always good and Hailu’s was close. She wore new, clean clothes again. When they got down to cases, the Elf asked, “Tell me of your journey to the White City.”

He expected a harrowing tale of dragging through the desert with other refugees. What he got was, “We walked downriver to Amrûn and took a ship to the Ethir Harnen. Then we sailed up the coast to Osgiliath.”

One hundred-plus years of mimicking Elvish expressions kept his face still, but that was news. The changeling managed, “Not across the Ephel windward to the Poros River?”

“Heavens no. A hundred leagues of thirsty scorpions. When the scourge Tulbar sacked my town, his thieving soldiers looted the better homes. One of his officers accidentally stabbed himself on my spear three times after stealing a silver box from our council Elder. We walked a hundred miles to Amrûn and traded that for passage and sailors’ food all the way here. The ship was a small freighter that delivered metal goods to Amrûn from Osgiliath. Since they carried little coming back, there was room for us!” He shook his head, “Alas, it was all we had.”

Nag Kath suspected that vessel was now property of His Highness. He handed the server two fivers with a wink, “We might be a while.”

For two hours they discussed every bend in the great Harnen for the hundred league trip from Amrûn to the river-mouth. Fiershu added, “Unfortunately, we did not get to see the great horse race in Ancalimon!”

The kindly Elf asked, “Are there many horses?”

Hailu would not be denied, “Oh yes, best of sirs. Pretty horses like yours.”

Fiershu explained, “They have races every ten days, their ancient measure of a week. This was special because it celebrated the annual games for a great Lord’s naming day.” The young man was a born storyteller. He set-up the narrative; “The market was excited because champion Jessieru was returning to the track after healing from injury! Alas, we left with the morning tide and the competition was not until noon.”

“Do many folk come to see?”

Hanieru answered, “In their thousands. Gobel Ancalimon alone has twenty thousand souls.”

Prewar strength! The King’s counselors must know that, but Nag Kath didn’t. Hailu made a face, “The trip was dull. There are many rocks and islands in the river so we stopped at dusk each night.”

Fiershu knitted his furry brows, “We were alone half the way but when we missed the race, a party joined us all the way to Gobel Mírlond – a middle-aged lady in black, a young woman servant and a stout handman. Perhaps she was in mourning. Not friendly.”

The Elf asked, “She didn’t say?”

Hanieru answered, “They were counselors of the firm that owned the ship – ate their own food and did not converse with us. We dined with the sailors. When we docked at Mírlond, attendants of a Holy Order were waiting to escort them into the city.”

All stood and bowed before the bricklayer/strategist took his brood home. Nag Kath sat back down and slowly pounded the heel of his fist on the table. Off-hour patrons stopped eating to stare. He rose with an apologetic smile and walked up to his house. 

Something was wrong! Perhaps the strategic minds serving King Eldarion were already considering options. Nag Kath commandeered the dining room. Two days later, a map of Harad was the new tablecloth. 

To understand the terrain, it helps to know that the rivers of Harad are a much larger version of Dale. Tulbar’s Chelkar River starts near the Upper Khagan’s capital of Ûbésêsh flowing along the southern Ephel Duath Mountains through Bogath. Leeward streams feed in until it turns south to join the Harnen at the citadel of Amrûn. Nag Kath traveled that flow almost as far as Tulbar’s capital a hundred years ago with Shelturn before sneaking over the low pass into Mordor.

The southern river was the Harnen which flowed from Laorki in Lower Khand for almost three hundred leagues due west to the sea. Between the rivers was the aptly-named Kajbah Desolation. The only arable land anywhere in Harad was within twenty-five miles of those two rivers. The Elf learned from the actors in Dol Amroth that Lower Khand kept their best troops along the first half of the Harnen so Hûk Sakûn couldn’t move east any more than Tulbar.

That meant the two warlords must meet at Amrûn, either to fight for the mandate to move west or combine forces. Perhaps they would be happy with their takings. If they had a pact, only they knew. Of course, the Kel-Lord of Amrûn might have something to say about that.

This was almost good news for Gondor. Tulbar was no threat to Ithilien unless he marched across a hundred leagues of barbed-tail spiders to be target practice for marines floating along the Poros. The problem was inseparably military and political. Both banks of the Harnen loosely belonged to the Haradric realm of Amrûn until it reached Gobel Ancalimon on the south, across from the Tharnen River on the north. From there on the south were three provinces of the Umbari Supreme Council – critical grain and fishing land – important enough that the ruling Shûsan in the provincial capital of Ramlond had a permanent, hereditary seat on the Supreme Council.

The north bank was nothing so simple. Harondor nominally belonged to Gondor, not that you could prove that by anyone living there. Again, it had usable land along the Harnen and everything north of the fertile river bank was sand and snakes. 

From the fair-sized river Tharnen west were nine districts. Gondor maintained an embassy in Gobel Mírlond on the north point of the Ethir Harnen with about five-thousand citizens in the city alone. The other eight districts stretched a hundred fifty miles east and answered to Umbar, unofficially, of course.

Aragorn’s terms forced the Umbari to cede Harondor to the Reunited Kingdom. Gondor established their capital in Mírlond with an excellent port. The breeds got along fairly well since being somewhat Gondoran gave locals more independence than similar districts under Umbar’s thumb. The importance of commerce was greatly enhanced when trade was opened with Thân zîrân. 

The Ethir Harnen itself had always been strategically critical. More of the infamous corsairs of Umbar’s black years issued forth from this bay rather than Umbar itself some one-hundred eighty miles south. When Gondor complained about the pirates, Umbar told them to police their own waters. Both sides had a point.

He needed to think.

His own Elf ears heard the conspirators discussing taking Imladrim and, the logical conclusion, Harondor. The reason they weren’t interested in above the Poros was because they weren’t interested in getting within a hundred leagues of the Poros! They were planning to take the western Harnen! Other than arming Tulbar’s troops without making Umbar any the wiser, Gondor had nothing to do with this other than their outpost among the Haradrim. Sauron never thought to use western bankers for his might!

So, what did Umbar think of the two barbarian Hûks massing on their rivers to the east? Translating Hanieru’s population estimate into troops, each side could field as many as twenty-thousand warriors, more if they conscripted men after taking Amrûn. 

“Good morning Nag Kath. Thank you for the painting.”

“My pleasure, Sire. Thank you for seeing me.”

“So, what new calamity have you brought today?”

The Elf pretended shock, “Sir! Perhaps we know each other too well.” Eldarion took a sip of tea and waited for his guest to add, “That depends on how much you want to keep the north bank of the Harnen.”

The King put his tea on the table and walked to the door. Just outside, he gave the attendant instructions and returned in silence. A minute later, Prince Elhidron entered and shut the door behind him. A raised eyebrow was his brother-in-law’s cue to continue.

“Good morning Your Highness.”

“Good day. I just saw Aunt Inara – both of you in one morning!”

Nag Kath thought before saying, “I hope she is in good humor with me. Sirs, I believe I have divined the doings in the south, or, at least, have a line of inquiry. I heard the Southrons discussing Imladrim, possibly Harondor. My mistake was thinking they meant up here.

“They intend to take the Ethir Harnen. The first question is whether the two warlords intend to act as one and fight later or whether they will fight over Amrûn first. The larger question is what Umbar intends to do about it.”

Eldarion would be frank with his secret weapon, “Very concise. Have you gathered the strength of the east?”

“Tulbar can muster twenty thousand – thirty if he can enslave the army of Amrûn. If Sakûn can do the same and they join forces, you have your infantry host. Wood for barges is the constraint. Tulbar has little cavalry. I don’t know about the southern Hûk. Umbar can match them for numbers, and they have a lot more horses than I thought.”

The Elf bit his lip slightly, “How are our ‘eyes’?

Elhidron took that one, “Poor. Ambassador Telgrin retired two years ago with a palsy. He is an invalid at his home in Osgiliath. His replacement dropped-dead three months ago. The new man should arrive at Gobel Mírlond about now.”

The younger man looked at his father. No response was his sign to continue, “Minister Francieth was more … thorough … explaining Umbar’s readiness after your meeting. They have the same concerns.” He shook his head muttering, “Fifty-thousand …?”

Nag Kath offered, “That is a wild guess. With your permission I would like to speak with Ambassador Telgrin.”

__________----------__________

“Ah, Kath of the Water! Please, come in.”

Kath of the Water was expecting a decrepit old cove bundled by the stove. Telgrin was not yet fifty, a tall, almost Northman-looking fellow who answered the door himself. He turned over his shoulder, “Justine, tea for two.”

The retired ambassador showed his guest to a sunny room in a home of the Garden District, not two blocks from the second storage tank. On their way, the Elf noticed an uncontrollable tremor in the man’s hands and jerking in his gait. Justine, a plain woman who was not his wife, brought tea with a bow and was gone.

“My great, great grand-da was a water-man … cleaned the sticks out of tank ta, ta, two … for thirty-four years.”

His guest relaxed with his tea and observed, “Let them pile-up for a week and they clog.”

“I never met him, but grandfather told tales. Had a taste for the grape, grand-da said. Now, you come with excellent references. How can I hel … hel … help my King?” Nag Kath assumed he could say or ask anything. Eldarion’s men would have explained the situation when they arranged this audience. 

There was nothing normal about the Harnen embassy. Telgrin was an ambassador in his own country, as per the original settlement of the Ring War. The Reunited Kingdom kept a large, comfortable compound in the city center of Gobel Mírlond with two hundred fifty token soldiers, but they did not train for line engagements, or Easterlings. Except for Mírlond, the upper Gondoran bank was actually governed by Umbari district administrators who represented the ethnic, river and political divisions stretching from there to the Tharnen River directly across from the last Umbari stronghold of Gobel Ancalimon – a distance of some fifty leagues. Those men, sometimes councils, were powers unto themselves, but everyone knew Umbar’s will ruled the subjects.

The Elf started simply, “If the Hûks unite and threaten the west, what can Umbar do?”

“Quite a bit. The problem is that Amrûn is hell-and-gone from Ancalimon. It is good dirt … and worth owning, but either or b, b, both warlords can cross all of Imladrim with no more than horseflies in the way if Amrûn is lost. Um … bar would consider a move on Ancalimon to be all-out war. The Supreme Umbar Council is already preparing river vessels and towers with forward ballista.

Telgrin stammered a moment and then sipped his tea to collect his thoughts, “So, in answer to your question, f … f … for, for us, where the fist meets the face would be the Tharven river-mouth. Umbarrrr might cross armies to our side to stall the barbarians on the b-b-banks. But they won’t if there is trouble on their own riverfront.” After another sip, “You know a little about fu … fu … fording riders too, eh?” 

“Not that many of them.”

Nag Kath kept his eyes on the sage emissary noticing the shake. Elhidron said his palsy was improving. This did not seem natural, unlike poor Mr. Cuumb’s fidgets. He said, “Sir, you seem to know a deal about me. I am also a healer with experience in nervous disorders. Would you like me to have a look at your difficulty?”

“Dougsh yes! It gets so bad I hit my teeth w, w, wii-iith my mug.”

“If you would stand and remove your jacket and shirt.”

Telgrin rose unsteadily and disrobed waist-up. Nag Kath placed one hand on the small of his back and another along the side of the man’s neck. His hands blurred silver, longer than he expected. The Elf ended the spell, swished a foul taste away with the rest of his tea and spat it out the window. Then he asked, “Sir, would you walk across the room and back?”

The patient did and said with profound joy, “Much better! Whatever in the world did you do?”

Nag Kath tried to share the man’s enthusiasm but tempered it with tidings, “That wasn’t a palsy. It was a spell. A powerful one, anchored with poison in the body. Someone got rid of you.”

“Dougsh! They say Dubison keeled-over dead as Durok! I was already here recovering. Dubison was my number-two, ‘eyes’ in the city – and fit as a fiddle. Never met the fellow they sent down last month.” The veteran diplomat took a slug of tea, spit it out the window and said what they were both thinking, “Bad new when he arrives, eh?”

When Nag Kath last spoke with Chievon, she said she was tutored by a witch from Ancalimon. The Elf was more flummoxed by the fire spell and neglected to ask about her mentor. Now, it seemed, one of Rellugh-Tur’s arms ships was ferrying high-women, dressed in black, around the war-zone. Chievon told him she wanted no part of the conflict, but he couldn’t make this sound innocent. The King’s Marshal had to ask and she would decide.

The witch was quite sunny. She let him in her apartment and asked if he would like a cup of water. It was clean in Minas Tirith and magical people can kill any pestilence with a wave of their hand. He said he would. There was no use hemming so he just started, “Chievon, I need your help. You said you were taught by a hoular of Ancalimon. There has been trouble from there.”

She might throw him out. She might confide. There was no telling from the face that haunts. The sorceress demurely put her cup on the table and looked him in the eye. “In the last year, great anger has left me, anger and hurt seething since I was a small girl. I was cross with my family – people who loved me. I disdained them, caused them grief not of their making.”

He thought she might cry. No, she had already shed those tears. Chievon gathered herself, “The Harad are coming here, are they not?”

“No, child. They could never reach us. They think to conquer the north bank.”

She smiled an inscrutable smile, “And the southern Hûk?”

“They both close on Amrûn. Who knows what they will do when they meet?”

The sorceress thought with her delicate furrowed-brows, “I will tell you this; Tulbar imagines himself grand Lord of Harad. No doubt this fellow, eh …,” Nag Kath told her, “… Sakûn thinks the same. Both shout that to the world. But those miserable deserts make one practical. They will have advisors, men like Aumpough, who will find their like downriver and consider the future. First they need to get there.

“As to my teacher, she was of the Order Houloch. I would tell you more if I knew but they do not share their secrets with adepts. I was not trained in their sanctum. Celinieth was brought to me in Gizar when I was presented to Lord Tulbar. The woman came with an apprentice and a personal guard. That is a hard life. She did not have my gifts. The woman aged – had trouble with her teeth. She had great experience, though. I only know about Ancalimon because it slipped out more than once. That doesn’t mean Order Houloch is there. Amrûn is closer.”

Now the sorceress did start to tear, “The Kath, I have been earnest with you. I hope you will do the same for me. You endured a much more terrible changing. Yet, you live a full life now. I hope to do the same. Please tell me that is possible.”

That was an easy question, “Of course, dear Chievon. The vicious god has left you. Recall all that was good and true and it will be so again.” He smiled, “You must not marry any more dark lords though!”

She smiled too.

Scheming Nag Kath had learned a great deal more about other people’s problems. Bad ‘uns were killing or poxing out-of-the-way ambassadors but that still didn’t put a single Swerting in Ithilien. Gondor’s risk was if Umbar was roiled in battle with eastern forces, they might not be able to, or even want to, keep piracy down in the western waterways. Two things were certain; it was in Gondor’s interest to keep the Southrons on their side of Amrûn. 

And if sorcery was afoot, Nag Kath should pack his bags.


	20. Choosing Sides

**_Chapter 20_ **

**_Choosing Sides_ **

The notion of bag-packing made him grin. Throw a few pairs of heurzis dainties in against the heat. Heurzis! What had Athmandal said – yes – the Peristonig brothers owned half of Near Harad and lived in Gobel Mírlond. He couldn’t just sail down on a royal ship and Lord it over the peasants. But he could be a Rhûnish trader buying worm-wool for freezing backsides of the northern wastes! First it was time for more tea with Ambassador Telgrin. 

TEA! The man was recovered. They would have a Rohan Red and dougsh to fussing nurses! Red was fine by Nag Kath so the two men walked to the Bell and Toad for libations. 

“Tell me ambassador …”

“Boros”

“Boros, then. What do you know about the Order Houloch?”

“Never heard of them.”

“Secret society of witches.”

“Maybe that’s why. Understand Lord Kath …”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Understand that there is no end of secret societies among those people. Anyone who is anyone belongs to several. There are men who think they should have won the war. There are men who think they did. Holy Orders, devil worship, men avoiding their wives, plentiful reasons to meet in the dark. Women serve their queer Maiar. It comes as no surprise there are sorceress’ too.”

The Elf put aside his first thought to ask, “I got this from our own captured witch. This Order send tutors into the hinterlands to train adepts capable of drawing humors. Chievon was quite powerful – still is, I suppose. But she can’t be the only one.”

“They guard them like the family jewels. I’m a bit surprised the local tart was as unprotected as she was. She blacked the walls?”

So he knew. Good! It showed he hadn’t lost touch. “Aye. Would have fried anyone but me. Now she is a pretty lady I need to find a husband. But she worked alone here. This sounds like some sort of nest.” He probed, “Boros, what do you know of the heurzis business?”

“More than witches. Mírlond is a main dock for vessels coming up the coast. They trade there and Umbari ships take goods back south to the closed Bay of Umbar.” He paused, “More of your doing, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, “Exchange is limited to three trading houses, one much larger than the others. They claim to hate each other but they get along well enough to keep there from being a fourth trading house.”

The ambassador asked, “Are you thinking of visiting?”

“Probably. That will depend on what my brother-in-law thinks.”

“Ah, family.” Telgrin pinched his chin, “You go, take me along.”

Somewhat surprised, the Elf asked, “What about your family?”

“My wife died young and my daughter is a harridan, married to a man who deserves her. I’ve been tripping over my own feet for two years. If I am no longer bewitched, it is time to complete my charge in the King’s service! Just let me know when to prepare.”

It was time for the difficult conversation. “Inariel, my dear, I may be called away on business for your royal brother. Perhaps not – but I have a sense of these things.”

“South?”

“Aye, not that far, really.”

“I would ask if anyone else could go, but I know better. When do you leave?”

He considered, “First I need to discuss this with the powers-that-be. They may make less of this.”

“You will go with honor. And you will return to me.” He held her closely that night.


	21. Violated

**_Chapter 21_ **

**_Violated_ **

_Time went by. Niefahra’s new parents cared for her and did not let anyone tease or beat their new charge. Hanu cried tears of relief every night that the cruel, stinting world around them offered her surcease. Those were better than tears of sorrow and she began to tend her husband’s needs again._

_Niefahra did indeed grow tall and fair, more in the northern style like her mother than here in a Southron fishing village. Years passed as she learned to cook and clean fish and repair nets. Every day she passed her stone, now muddy and common. The girl did not place her hands on it again. That was too horrifying. Those faces were not of her kind. And Goran pointedly reminded her not to attract attention from her former life. Being a future fishwife was not perfect, but better than a slave._

_As Goranthalu thought, his adopted daughter did indeed attract notice. When she turned sixteen, a Lieutenant of the Sûk Oda militia spotted her with the wharf-mongers. Oda was not a prestigious unit, to say the least, but he was a genuine officer and might make it to Ramlond if he was ruthless enough. Lieutenant Negrath was smitten by the lovely fisher-girl. His parents were less than impressed with his report, never having seen her. The young officer would arrange that after his posting in this dreary village was up._

_Elder son Calithu of the family Yul had his own desires. He and his louts noticed Niefahra when she walked to the wharf with the other women and returned for afternoon chores at home. After drinking with low friends, the wastrel watched her in the late sun. One day she was trailing the ladies by enough of a stretch that they didn’t notice when he tackled her in Mrs. Benu’s cabbages._

_Niefahra screamed and tore at his face which earned her a punch to the jaw. When she woke, he was gone, along with her underclothing. She wasn’t so late that her parents were looking for her. Dragging-in, sobbing in pain and shame, they immediately knew what had happened, if not by whom._

_Goran grabbed his staff next to the door and shouted at his no-longer marriageable ward, “Who?!”_

_The lass choked-out, “Calithu!”_

_Her da made a face and put the staff back in place. This would certainly destroy her chances with the officer, but Calithu was the son of Mordanul, a man of high standing in Piersh. Better his loathsome son than whoever would claim her from the refuse pile after this outrage. The man took his coat off the peg and walked into the night._

_“I tell you, she moaned in pleasure!”_

_“Tell us more!”_

_“Why? She is one of many women I’ve serviced. They are all the same after a while.”_

_Lesser lights gathered round for the pimply youth’s lies. Hureau; younger and knowing less of the world, wondered, “Then will you take her into your father’s home?”_

_“Of course not, fool! She is nothing. My marriage has been arranged to butcher Dangor’s daughter.”_

_Another of Calithu’s drinking companions thought poorly of that, “Dangorah? A dowry, no doubt, but she is homely as a mud-shark.” He grinned, “Perhaps the rest of us will take our turns with the foundling.”_

_Calithu leaned back with a smirk, “That is why a man must have an assortment! The new girl will serve, for now. I will consider sharing her after I’ve had my fill!”_

_They had a third round and went home for dinner._

_Niefahra closed within herself. Goran would not protest to the Yul family, who would certainly make his life miserable. Their son was a chip off the block. The castaway might even be scourged for enticing the poor lad._

_Second mother Hanu was distraught. On the verge of demanding satisfaction herself, the women of the docks told her in no uncertain terms that would be a mistake._

_No longer a maiden; the sullied female was shunned by the women she labored alongside for the last four years. She still trudged back and forth with them to prepare the fish for sale, but they did not speak to her._

_That went on for a week. On Thursday – not that their schedule ever varied – Niefahra spotted Calithu lurking in shadow by the breakwater – no doubt ready for another helping. She stayed close to the returning fishwives, remaining in her garden. The stone had not moved. She had not touched it. It was an object of fear, of faces beyond her ken. After a week of ostracism, she would see just how rotten they really were. Rare rain had cleaned some of the pervasive dust off the surface. The lass stared at the orb before trudging inside for another wordless meal._

_There was only the barest moon that July night – still enough to see it glisten. The water-daughter crept silently outside to relieve herself and shined the surface with her dress. Quickly glancing around to be sure she was alone, Niefahra knelt gently to place her palms on the orb – just as she had done what seemed ages ago._

_At first, nothing happened. Had she imagined visions in her boredom and youth? She felt something, a power, the intelligence she thought she remembered as a child. Less than a minute later, she saw the old man in white, no different than before. He tried speaking to her in the unpronounceable tongue of the northerlings. Unknown to her, he was angrily demanding who and what she was, and what was she doing in the White Tower of Ecthelion?_

_The old curmudgeon seemed swept aside as if a child shoved by a man-grown. It was the yellow eye! Lidless, penetrating, there was no evading it. Niefahra had practiced taking her hands away from their stove in preparation but they would not budge. It seemed to evaluate her in a moment and repeated without words, “You will come to me.”_

_Even in this grim circumstance she would not do that without incentive. Hard life had taught her there is a price for anything asked. The eye asked. It would pay. She said more calmly than she felt, “Where?”_

_The eye hesitated a moment, “Where are you now?”_

_“The Ethir of Harnen, great sir.”_

_“From whence did you come?”_

_“Across the bay, Kel-Lord.” It sounded better than a slave of Ithilien._

_Slowly, without benefit of lips, “Go to Amrûn – to the highest place.”_

_She said blandly, “A long trip without money or friends.”_

_The fisher-girl thought she heard the slightest trace of humor, “You have the greatest of friends. Close those lovely eyes, child.”_

_She did. Moments later, a blast of power unlike any ever felt in Piersh radiated through the incipient hoular and then every subject of the Umbari outback seconds later. Niefahra still stood with hands glued to the orb, black hair blown straight back from the force, clothes smoldering from flames that did not touch her skin._

_The voice said purposefully, “Someone has taken from you. We cannot allow that. For one day he will do exactly as you say. Bring the stone to Amrûn. Call to me then.”_

_The black rock lost all intelligence and cooled – message delivered._

_The following day was exactly the same as all before it except the resolute lass dawdled walking home with the wives. He was waiting, in shadow, reminding himself savagery made him a man. The foolish slut was coming for more!_

_This time Calithu sauntered to his future mistress. About to order her into the alley, a voice unlike any known to him commanded, “You are in my service. Tell your friends to help you steal my rock, to further shame me for spurning you. Wrap it in sackcloth first. Load it in your father’s smallest wagon with the brown donkey. Then tell your helpers you alone will hide it. Do you understand?!”_

_She laid it on thick, not knowing if the voice of the stone was genuine. The young scion nodded dully and walked to the tavern._

_At light, a small wagon with a single occupant clopped upriver along the south bank of the great Harnen. Only the delinquent’s father wondered what happened to the cart. Everyone else stared at Calithu’s face, frozen in terror. He was stuffing his innards back into his stomach when life’s blood failed him._


	22. Our Lands on the Harnen

**_Chapter 22_ **

**_Our Lands on the Harnen_ **

Prince Elhidron chaired the revamped New Shadow meeting. The King, as his father had done for the Angmar campaign, largely kept his thoughts to himself. Recovered Ambassador Telgrin attended and was roundly congratulated by his former superior Foreign Minister Francieth. Minister Templeblan and General Todl along with their aides found chairs around the table.

Now 45, the Prince took after Aragorn in appearance with a beard. At one in five parts Elf and the rest Dúnedain, he would age more slowly than his future subjects – if he outlived his father. Elhidron spoke like his grand-da too; careful, measured, just a hint of mirth. The heir began, “Thank you all for coming, and it is good to see you are well, Mr. Telgrin.”

Telgrin was a mid-level administrator, not of stately bloods, but capable – put to pasture too soon. Nag Kath asked that he come since he knew more about the official side of Gondoran Harondor than anyone else.

The Prince continued, “We know the basics. It appears the Hûk who bought our steel plans to either use it on another tyrant coming down the Harnen or whoever gets in front of them marching to the sea. How many men, do you suppose, Ambassador?”

Telgrin wasn’t bashful in regal company, “Lord Kath thought twenty-thousand per tyrant, sir. If they join arms, there you have it. Tulbar’s host is armed … can’t speak to Sakûn. They don’t have to worry about an eastern enemy slipping behind them to seize what they have already stolen. The Umbari on their side of the river don’t have that many troops. They could conscript more nearer the coast but they would be greenbottoms. Their better infantry and best cavalry are already posted eastward.”

General Todl, the man who would have to stop whatever Gondor could stop, observed, “Except these villains would be tramping along the north bank with no resistance in Imladrim and precious little in Reunited lands.” By that he meant Gondor had no control over anything military and small clout in trade along the river-mouth. As many as five thousand Gondorans lived in Gobel Mírlond, mostly settling right after the ring war. Now there for six generations, it was the home they knew.

The Prince got down to cases; “All this assumes one or both of the Hûks invest Amrûn. That is a solid fortress with stout defenses. King …” he looked at the scribe who told him, “… Ongaruth might be able to fight-off one army, but not both. So, let us assume we have infantry marching on our side of the Harnen. What will Umbar do?”

That was an open question for anyone willing to put in their oar. Telgrin took the challenge after letting his superiors defer. “Nothing. They will defend no further on their side than Gobel Ancalimon, if that. It stretches their supply-lines too thin. Whatever force we can muster will be to our side of the Tharnen mouth where the Hûks have to ford. I saw that ford once at high water and am told the fall flows are considerably less. Umbar certainly know that. ”

Francieth grumbled, “It is theirs anyway.” That might be a disrespectful, even treasonous statement, but the men around the table were practical and both royals allowed counselors to speak their minds. The Minister added, “If Umbar successfully defends their ground, and our territory falls, Umbar's and our new enemy stares at them from across the Ethir.” He looked around the table, “That is our risk.”

The King felt it was time for his counsel, “Our choice is the pan or the flame. If Easterlings take the north bank, Umbar cannot remain a reliable trading partner. Piracy will flourish. I think we need to support the Supreme Umbar Council, even knowing it loses us what little influence we have. Ambassador, what of our own people?”

“All on the coast, Sire. They are safe if Umbar holds. We’ll have to get them if Southrons march past the Tharnen. That gives us plenty of notice, but when the first ship sails, everyone will know we are pulling-up stakes.”

Elhidron looked at Uncle Nag, “There is more.”

“Yes, sir. Hûk Tulbar, at least, still has sorcery at his call. The witch he sent here was trained by a quiet organization of their kind. I know nothing of their power since her advanced education was from a woman sent to Gizar. The mentor kept her lips buttoned about their Order but they left a few breadcrumbs.”

Eldarion hadn’t asked about Chievon since he pardoned her, “Lord Kath, how fares your sorcerous lady?”

That got the men a grin, “She helped me with the spring fevers. All her patients fell hopelessly in love with her.”

Templeblan’s aide, Renvo, son of Pelivan, was not comfortable with Easterling sorceress’ abroad in the White City. “Lord Kath, what threat does this black creature pose to His Highness’ safety?” There was a little sucking-up in the question too.

The Elf would not call him out for that and respected his concern. “She is still powerful, but I think on our side now. Even more of her strength came from the dark lord Morgoth, which, I confess, was my doing. When the portal into the Void was disabled, some essence of him escaped to ladies like her, along with the Seer of Angmar and the child-witch. It is purged now. Most important to us, she can no longer far-speak back home.” He looked around the table, “That isn’t to say others can’t.”

Renvo was unsettled. “Sir, the woman bewitched her patients?!”

That was good for another un-Elvish grin, “No, healing talents were not developed in her bondage. I make a point of seeing her regularly. Right now she is learning to knit.” Nag Kath rummaged in his satchel for a newer picture than the face peeping out of the hood – slightly in profile with the hint of smile. Poor Renvo was smitten.

Elhidron looked at his da and closed the meeting, “Sirs, it seems some old fashioned spying is in order. We need to know the situation, what we can do and what Umbar might do. Minister Francieth, if you can attend the Umbari side?” Francieth nodded. “And Lord Kath, I’m sure you will find creative ways to investigate North Harnen.”

Old fashioned spying! Telgrin was back on the payroll. Still officially part of Francieth’s patch, he was indefinitely seconded to Lord Kath’s underground intrigues with the understanding he might need to assume his old role in Mírlond.

The man wasn’t a Listracht. He was a senior Gondoran diplomat. Unfortunately, he looked it. A smaller, olive-hued man would be handier. They would need a few. The Elf would revisit his role as Nag Solvanth; Rhûnic merchant in the growing heurzis trade. The Southrons bought every scrap coming from Miraz so he would appear the disappointed trader. Some of his own worm-wool might make them credible.

The conspirators met with Francieth’s aides several times about the Umbar contingent. Strangely, the countries had never exchanged ambassadors. The right men, who knew the other right men, kept those affairs away from prying eyes. 

_________-------_______

“Good morning, Chievon.”

“Oh, hello the Kath.”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“There is trouble?”

“No more than expected. I will travel south to Harad, likely seeing Gobel Mírlond on the way. Perhaps I will meet those of the Order of Houloch while there …”

She offered her enigmatic smile, “You will if you look.”

“Such is my habit.”

“You must not kill yourself and widow your Princess.” The witch had not offered him a seat and remained standing, arms crossed. “I am concerned.”

He tried to reassure, “We are not going there to destroy them.”

The Elf misunderstood. She corrected him sternly, “What you do in those lands is your business. I wish to learn why a high-guardi has been following me. He is well trained but acting alone. Please tell me this is not your doing.”

“Not intentionally. What does he look like?”

“Of average height, not yet forty, well-dressed, always comes from the upper levels. That is no help to you … wait, he wears a medallion of gold in the shape of an eagle.”

Commandeering a grocery list, her benefactor sat and roughed a sketch. She gave it a thorough look, “You know this man.”

“A passing acquaintance. You are in no trouble.” The Elf said almost innocently, “Do you know the nenthoe spell?” She drew a blank. “Pulling from earth to imbue someone with an essence?”

“Ah, the hanargie.”

“I think a little fragrance will sort-out your admirer.”

She frowned, “That will linger for weeks.”

“I’m counting on it. Now, what about the Order Houloch?”

“My tutor always wore black – a uniform, a vow. Her name was Celinieth, a pretty name. She had little power of her own yet very skilled with what she knew. She could far-speak and taught me that craft. Her adept had no talent at all, at least, not that she showed. Neither spoke Khandian. A large man saw to their protection. Since no one bothered them, he spent his evenings looking for companionship.”

The Elf asked, “Was there a greeting or token?”

“No, but you need only open yourself to the transference of humors. You felt mine when I was taken – too high for ordinary people to hear.” She became serious, “Do not send-out any yourself. Very subtle. Easier to observe from above, I should think.” 

Chievon made a decision, “They know of you.”

“From your capture?”

“Long before. I heard grand-da’s tales, but they knew of you in Gizar too. The oval. The Nazgul-stone. You sent thousands of Wainriders beyond recall. The Elessar was not the only one who might have summoned ghost armies to complete their charge.”

Nag Kath knew he would have left footprints. “Here in my lands I am forgotten every generation.” He considered that gravely, “Should I be looking over my shoulder?”

Chievon smiled; the face that haunts, “I think not. People cannot imagine you are flesh, more the curious prophet you worship who appeared only so often and then vanished. I now know it is because you are meek. Ambitious lords and seers of Sauron’s lands would draw attention to themselves grasping for power. They cannot fathom someone not seeking to impose their will.”

Meek? “Just busy, I suppose.” He had a lot to think about. Nag Kath stood and kissed her forehead. “You stay safe. I hope suitable gentlemen have noticed that you are unmarried.”

She smiled her pretty smile.

___________-------___________

The council was recalled. All the men from the last attended along with the emissary Francieth was sending to Umbar. Hembree was Second Minister with the dignitas and experience to impress. He kept his mouth shut, which also impressed. 

Even in noble silence, the man could not help looking at Renvo, son of Pelivan. Templeblan’s aide was slathered in the perfumes of a half-groat pleasure-boy vainly trying to cloak stinking like a three-day dead whisker-fish – a touch of Nûrnish humor. The rest of the room was uncomfortable too. The son of Pelivan would not miss the chance to attend the great King. He did his career no favors.

Reek notwithstanding, this would be a two-pronged effort. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs would send an official embassy, with all the trappings, to the Supreme Council of Umbar in a month. If they found common ground, Hembree would remain as Ambassador and assist the Umbari in preparing a like mission to the White City. Less august; the ancient but down-on-their-luck trading firm of Yantieth and Solvanth would sail to the Ethir Harnen representing Rhûnish interests in fabric.

The official diplomatic mission would go on a proper navy ship with escorts. The unofficial effort should arrive in Mírlond on a vessel that looked fortunate not to find the bottom of the Bay.

Inariel snuggled. Nag Kath was expecting a more tearful goodbye. No, she was daughter of the King and Queen of the Reunited Kingdom. This was duty, and everyone should do their duty. She would pray. She also knew if freezing for seventeen years didn’t kill him, not much would. That night she gave him a memorable reason to return.


	23. Confluence

**_Chapter 23_ **

**_Confluence_ **

_Niefahra remembered that terrible night every night thereafter – taken against her will, pleading for Calithu to release her. Then there was the pain, and the grief, and the anger. There was her step-da who stood mute in fear of consequence – poor, insecure Hanu; powerless as well. And her own parents; who watched her loaded onto the ship without a word._

_Only the eye had done anything for her. There was no mercy or love or anything human, but it was power that bent however slightly to her needs. It made her feel strong, strength she knew from no one else in her short, miserable life._

_Niefahra traveled the lonely south bank of the Harnen with her prized stone in the wagon bed. She did not push the donkey and let her eat morning and night. Handfuls of grain stolen from home sustained her, as it had on the ship. Calithu’s purse had a few copper groats. After weeks on the road, she made the walled city of Gobel Ancalimon, last reach of formerly great Numenoreans; both despised and revered in this land._

_Finding shade against an interior fortress wall, the fledgling witch took her rest, spending one of two remaining groats for better than grain. She had not intended to stay but a gaunt female walked to her, tentatively, and said, “We heard you, little one. When you reach your destination, remember us.” The hoular heaved a basket of very tasty food into the cart and was gone without another sound._

_Days passed. Niefahra did not recall how many, but she reached the confluence of the lazy Harnen and violent Chelkar. The city of Amrûn, surrounding the hideous fortress of Ghalibatu, was on the north bank. Trading her last groat for passage across the river, the exhausted young woman sold the donkey and wagon to pay for a room and lads to hoist her round rock, still unscratched after rough handling many times._

_This contested patch of the black empire was ruled by the Kel-Lord Raeû, son of the son of the man who seized the citadel in the war against Hûk Braegu. Half of the population on both sides was lost, mostly through plague and starvation. Soldiers did a little better than subjects._

_Kel-Lord Raeû, as every tyrant since well before memory, owed allegiance to the dark King of Mordor. Sauron’s announced return to the southern world a generation before made that historic commitment much more palpable. The black lord worked slowly by human measure but his Yvsuldor servants were already here and other realms in stealth. They would make themselves known in good time._

_Niefahra knew little of Sauron. She did know something magical lived in her unwieldy stone, something that could elevate her above the helplessness she was learning to loathe. The young woman started slowly. The Eye told her to climb. There was only one place on this flat river valley to rise, and that was the fortress of Ghalibatu. It sported four unmatched towers, at one time for prayer to the four corners of the earth. Prayers only went north now._

_She did not want to talk to men; abusers and accursed! The woman of Ancalimon knew she was special. There might be more here. A single hand on the stone, withdrawn quickly, sent a gentle pulse. It might not make it to wherever the Eye dwelt, but local houlars might notice._

_Niefahra walked to the main market. All commerce of almost any kind was for the benefit of officers. Some trickled to common soldiers. Little made it further. Still, women could scour the countryside for the weeds and seeds that helped clear clogged bowels and hacking coughs. There were always fevered babies if someone thought them worth saving. Most trade was in barter – certainly at high levels of power. Umbar, disdained here, at least had some cash-trade for fishermen and craftsmen._

_Loitering by the Juushu weeds Niefahra’s mother used, a hook-nosed hoular approached and stood stock still. Niefahra spoke as an adult, “I am called by the Eye.”_

_The lady blanched first, then stuttered, “I am Lhurza. We felt you.”_

_Lhurza escorted the Speaker-child to a modest home on the north side of Amrûn, away from the life-giving Harnen. A nondescript woman silently opened the door after Lhurza rapped a staggered combination of knocks._

_Inside were three other women, none young, sitting around cups of the unimaginably rare tea of Khand. Piersh had no such beverages. The oldest of them belied her stern countenance by saying pleasantly, “You are a dear thing. Come, sit by me. We will speak of a better life than you have known.”_

_Not a mannerly lass; Niefahra remained standing and responded stiffly, “I am called by an Eye.”_

_Evenly; “As are we all, child.”_

_The old hoular was used to command. Perhaps the lass brought tools to the sanctum, but she was not mistress, not by a long-shot, and the true mistress would set the tenor. Working against them; houlars were little esteemed in Amrûn. The healing part of their trade was tolerated for their ability to act against dark creatures in the employ of regional enemies. Since those spirits mainly caused poxes, it was the same work in either case._

_The lowly lass said more circumspectly, “I am Niefahra. What is your will?”_

_“Oh, you needn’t make it so dismal, my dear. We are here to help you. But you must know, one simply doesn’t announce oneself to the authorities inside the merry fortress of Ghalibatu. They are men … and men are so … unreliable.”_

_The houlars noticed the witch-child blanch. That arrow more than glanced. A woman who might have been lovely once said, “Yes, we must rely on each other, despite high lords in faraway places. Now, won’t you come join us for tea?”_

_The oldest hoular was Blûh. Her companion was Estah – ‘Hope’ in the old tongue. Third was Xerish who said nothing more than her name. Niefahra did not chat gaily over tea with the girls, but she was forthcoming; describing the stone of the Eye, how she came to be here and how she came to be there. The story of brutal Calithu informed. Estah commented succinctly, “Slaying your defiler … like the spider eats its mate. Commendable.”_

_After a decent interval, Blûh announced, “Now, we must see this stone of yours.” Position established, there was no avoiding that. Niefahra stood and slowly led the four senior houlars to her room near the docks. Oddly, some folk stared then turned away as if suddenly remembering terribly important matters. The hovel had just been searched by no one interested in stealing a three-hundred pound river rock. Xerish and Lhurza studied the perimeter of the small quarters for signs left by those of higher powers. Finding none, they nodded to Estah and joined the older women gathered around the stone. They knew not to touch it. Yes, it may convey the will of the terrible lord, or any of many minions, but one doesn’t put herself forward for scrutiny._

_The difficult part was being in Amrûn. These women believed the small powers that kept them from wretched lives flowed from the humors now being consolidated in Sauron the Great. Then there was Kel-Lord Raeû, a much higher servant of the dark one than any of them, but probably not inclined to attract unwanted attention either. Wasn’t it only last month that the Sisterhood of Houlars helped foil warags eating farmers in the eastern delta? Those deranged Hûks upriver sometimes poached over the borders and let the wolves hunt for themselves. Encroachments got a blind-eye from the Kel-Lord because at some nearing point, all armies would be called north for the greatest of dagorahs! Spells to poison weapons used on the warags earned the women grudging thanks, but no standing for future needs. Yes, providence had given them a new female, talented, possibly seductive, who might insinuate the Order Houloch into the citadel._

_First they had to see the winsome lass speak to the Eye._

_The senior houlars stayed away from the stone, watching closely as Niefahra placed her hands on the now pristine surface. Recognition was slower but came with a glow of greenish light before the Eye emerged first … no old codger fussing over provenance._

_“You are closer.”_

_“I have come to Amrûn, High Lord.”_

_“I can not see you clearly, child.”_

_“No, My Lord. I am in the barest of dwellings.”_

_“That will be corrected. Find Dierig. Tell him, **‘Dossh fûl. Maynag khiûl.’** Explain your stone is to be placed on the north tower in high honor, with appointments worthy of my seeing.”_

_She repeated the black speech flawlessly._

_“Yes. Good. Call to me when the two towers can speak.”_

_The stone went black._

**_________--------_________ **

_That was considerably more than Blûh was expecting. The vision of the Eye was limited to Niefahra but three of the five houlars heard it clearly in their minds. Until now, the Mistress thought a minion was controlling the unschooled fish-waif. No; if this wasn’t the god himself, it was close; perhaps one of the fallen Kings of the bitter north._

_This created risk and reward. Risk was a matter of degree because there was always risk – less risk if one had resources and protection. Reward was the possibility of food, possibly influence. She had to ponder what this meant for them._

_Men of the Ghondor in the days of Steward Ecthelion believed the conquered races of Sauron’s eastern and northern lands worked as one; an oiled machine for the aims of the one, true master!_

_Of course, nothing was further from the case. When the high lord is the very soul of ruthlessness and cruelty, all advancement, from nations to armies to subjects, works the same way. Everyone was out for themselves._

_One of those organizations was the Sisterhood of Houlars of which she was Mistress. And the Sisterhood now had a weapon – a girl who could speak to others like her over great distance using this river-rock from the mud of Ghondor. It was assumed, though not proven, that the Nazgûl wraiths had limited far-speaking ability with their lord Sauron. Their craft was elemental and they could not convey those messages to the men, orcs or beasts without actually being there. The fallen kings wanted nothing to do with water so they had to ride long distances just like couriers of men._

_Then there was the matter of Umbar – proud, haughty Umbar, brought low when the Duneishda burned their majestic fleet to the waterline just four years before, the same invaders that drove Niefahra to the village on the south Harnen. If her ship was crewed by wraiths, she was intended for elsewhere._

_Why wouldn’t the dark lord have sent her where she was originally intended? Easy … without ships, Umbar lost favor. When the forces of the dark king are called to take the fertile land, cities and possessions of the northerling scum, the bulk of the troops will pass through the here; the Haradric capital of Amrûn, rather than sailing leisurely along the balmy coast!_

_Many ideas swirled in the capable mind of Blûh. Now; what of the orcs? To create the strike-force needed to assault multiple enemy capitals it would take two, maybe three generations of men to breed enough of the monsters. One generation had already passed since Sauron announced his return to the Nûrnen. Grain shipments over the Pass of Kupshe had steadily increased – enough that the Kel-Lord Reaû was having trouble maintaining his troops with every foot of ground put to plow. Beasts were raised to carry grain and be eaten themselves on arrival._

_The mistress’ thoughts strayed beyond their borders. If Amrûn was the crossroads, at some nearing point, perhaps not in human life but as measured by the immortal dark one, these fractious Hûks must be brought to heel and made part of a unified host. Reaû must do this or expect another to replace him. That campaign would lavish unimaginable northerling spoils on the general. Reaû would be positioning himself for that. It was still almost impossible to think of fighting alongside such barbarians! Their own forces would be right to insist on preferred battlefield placement._

_Reaû didn’t have the men to accomplish this by force. The barbarians up the Harnen were good at fighting themselves but might band together long enough to resist the Amrûnic central command. They also had the iron reserves. The dark lord was not yet ready for armies of poorly armed men trudging into Mordor with no food. And the maniacs up the Chelkar were worse – although they were closer to Sauron. He could send orcs when he had bred enough of them. That would be the signal that war was near._

_Then there was always the missing element. Wise men contended the great one lacked a tool to destroy the northerlings. How did they know? Idle speculation. First the girl had to find the Dierig._

**____________----------____________ **

_Assistant Chamberlain Dierig was of moderate rank in the Kel-Lord’s service. First-hand reports from a Sister in the Ghalibatu fortress were that he was unimpressive; a fussy handman keeping Reaû’s schedule. If whatever was speaking to the girl from Mordor, probably Mordor, was to bring him forth, he must be a Yvsuldor spy. How potent? Who knew? There was nothing for it. Ahnhet was instructed to find where the Chamberlain would be and smuggled Niefahra through the service gate. The lass was dressed modestly so as not to be confused with the painted girls trading their youth for dinner._

_“Your pardon sir, are you Chamberlain Dierig?”_

_“And if I were, what concern is that of a laundress?”_

_“A friend asked me to convey a message, best of sirs.”_

_“Then do so with haste. I am an important man, busy with the affairs of the Kel-Lord!”_

**_“Dossh fûl. Maynag khiûl.”_ **

_The conditioning was released. It took a few moments for the character subsumed in the solicitous functionary to emerge. Dierig had lain in wait for the command to begin the next phase of dark domination. He looked at the shy domestic for the first time and asked, “What is our Lord’s bidding?”_

_“A stone must be enshrined on top of the north tower, on a stand and in surroundings worthy of the Eye.”_

_Who was this girl?! No automaton; she understood the words she was ordered to say. He asked neutrally, “A stone?”_

_“Eighteen inches across – perfectly round.”_

_“When such provisions are made, where do I find you?”_

_“I will find you.”_

_Ahnhet kept an eye on the neglected north tower. Stairs were dusty past the ninth floor in this; the least useful wing. The foreboding fortress of Ghalibatu was constructed by four iterations of tyrants, none related, with varying visions and building skills. The massive thirteen-story complex inside the primary walls was built by Kel-Houdo. Towers were added later on each corner of a sloppy square._

_The north tower was commissioned by the unlamented Kel-Brontû some six-hundred years before. Among his dubious notions was that he had been personally anointed by the Dark One to unify the Hûks of East Harnen. They saw things differently and three years of infiltration-warfare favored neither side. The houlars of the time were ineffective when ordered to curse Hûk Lendiel. In a fit of rage, the Kel-Lord ordered all witches who could be found beheaded, just before dying of a bilious fever they probably could have cured. Brontû’s young son was promptly murdered by the regent who then led their forces to total annihilation on the east bank of the Chelkar. Lendiel became the next Kel-Lord and built a much nicer tower on the east corner to gaze at his homeland._

_Twelve days after Niefahra made contact, Ahnhet reported that workmen stopped trudging up the main north tower steps or, occasionally, along the little used original circular stairs around the perimeter._

_“Good morning, Mr. Dierig.”_

_“Oh, it’s you.” That was said in his affected servant tone. “The tower-top has been repaired and made ready for your stone.”_

_“It is very heavy and kept in the town.”_

_They walked directly there after the Servant pressed a company of soldier/guardi to bind her orb in canvas. Four men, one on each corner of the sling, carried it up the stairs until they tired and were replaced by fresh bearers holding torches. It took two hours but all twelve, plus the Assistant Chamberlain and young hoular, panted their way to the top of the bare, square deck._

_The Yvsuldor had done himself proud. Years of debris and accumulated pigeon droppings were cleared from the floor open to the sky. In the center of the seventy-foot square deck stood a handsome pedestal, carved in relief with symbols of the dark one and Kel-Lord Reaû – knowing the local authority would weigh-in on this. He dismissed eight of the men leaving only his four personal retainers. As instructed, they removed the burlap and set the stone in the hollow of the pedestal protected by shearling gloves._

_Dierig was ‘whal’ – middling of the three classes of sorcerers in the Yvsuldor. Until now, he watched and reported to Mhandt, a higher servant who trafficked, purportedly, with the black wraiths. But like everyone else in the cruel, stinting lands of Sauron, advancement could only come on the backs of those in-front of him. This seemed a good chance to get rid of the grim lass or, perhaps, think of better use for her slim figure._

_The Assistant Chamberlain dismissed his men so only he and the hoular adept remained on the windy promontory. With an air of affected importance, Dierig slowly sauntered to the stone, now at chest-height, and firmly laid his hand on top._

_It sizzled like meat hitting a grill. The man had done this as a demonstration and didn’t immediately realize the trap. After a second lasting an eternity, he yanked his hand away, leaving most of the skin smoldering on the surface. That was followed by a howl to rival any mountain warag. There was no water or lard or even bandages within fifteen stories so he tore-off his vest and wrapped it around the seething palm._

_Niefahra watched without expression. While the handman was still hopping in pain, she flowed to the stone and gently caressed it with one hand. It glowed, almost like a dog wags its tail when praised. Looking up, “One must be careful, best of sirs. Perhaps we shall learn its bidding with patience.”_


	24. Sailing South

**_Chapter 24_ **

**_Sailing South_ **

Telgrin arrived at the Rammas dock dressed like a Catanard pirate. The stately diplomat had no experience looking bad convincingly. A quick shopping trip around the first level cured that. Nag Kath well knew that poor clothes don’t make one down-and-out. You have to wear them trying to look as presentable as possible. With them were four marines already dressed rough. They were led by Sarn’t Timmons who was exactly what Nag Kath would have conjured if he could create warriors from scrap iron. 

The six men took bilge-passage to the Sirith dock in Pelargir. In the hold between their hammocks sat a shabby coffin holding an assortment of lethal equipment and a real dead whisker-fish for authenticity. It still smelled better than poor Renvo. 

The men took rooms in a decent inn while Nag Kath looked for Athmandal. Dal knew something of the heurzis trade and had seen one of the Peristonig brothers only a few years back. Luck was in. Athmandal and his son were in Pelargir. His family had done well and this was high season for bringing Emyn Vierald produce upriver. The old friends met for a beer with Telgrin and Sarn’t Timmons. Dal was not the fit-lad of old, but he still had most of his teeth and used them in his same lopsided smile reliving old times. Flaming an enemy galley was news to the envoys. After obligatory yarns, the fruit-trader said, “Looks like you are in your old employ, sir. Nonsense in the south?”

“No fooling you, my friend. Anything you know can help.”

Dal gave that some thought, “I leave worm-wool to the big-boys, but I hear things. You lookin’ for spies or sorcery?”

“Same thing.”

“Guess I knew that. You still have high credit with Ubier if he still draws breath. Udan died before I saw you last. I don’t know the address but you’ll have no trouble.” The former cabin-boy and finder of important things added, “Approach cautiously.”

On the way to the inn Telgrin asked, “Peristoni?”

“Umhmm.”

“Don’t know him well. Umbar butters the bread of the heurzis traders. Mightn’t let anything slip about King and country.”

“We’re just old friends hoisting a tankard to our youth.”

Sarn’t Timmons was in charge of transportation. He found a ship that would suit. A single-masted light hauler; it crewed twelve. Sailors were mostly North Harnen Southrons, grandsons of raiders who had sailed those waters since Sauron was a pup. They weren’t loyal to anyone but would certainly sell information at modest rates if opportunity knocked. Capt’n Yervienies was suspicious when told a Rhûn wanted passage to Mírlond to buy the famed worm-wool. The tall man with tight blonde braids was taking a single crate (now minus the fish) down to trade. That meant he either had cash or planned to steal cargo – a spread of good to terrible for the pilot of the Math Doumn if implicated. 

What made it suspicious was that you needed references and position to get a sniff of the heurzis fabric. If men were hiring his humble vessel in Pelargir, that suggested neither. He would certainly take them down, for cash, but might not wait for the return voyage. Unbeknownst to Yervienies, that was fine with the stout men of the King’s marines. They needed to arrive quietly. Getting home would attend itself. 

A deal was struck to take the unmet Mr. Solvanth and five employees to Gobel Mírlond, wait for cargo and return them home. Yervienies overcharged and got it; a Florin, payable in four nippers – two now, two when they cast-off returning here. Several sailors wanted a peek in the locked crate the greenbottom brought, but one look at his burly helpers sunk such notions below the waves. The bearers of the Rhûnic trader seemed to know their business and stowed their modest gear quickly. They moved more like raiders than cargo haulers. 

Solvanth was an interesting passenger. He looked almost Dúnedain, perhaps northern Rhûn with those blonde braids, but very young – a pretty thing. Seaman Chuleg would dream about him tonight. Capt’n nodded to the bowman after loading their usual cargo and they were in the current. Like sailors always did, the Rhûn and everyone else on deck watched their wake lapping half a troll-head peeking from under a century of barnacles. 

The Math Doumn would follow Nag Kath’s trip along the south side of the Ethir Anduin researching the famed mariner of Mardruak. From there they hugged the coast, shielded from Belegaer waves by the dead island of Tolfalas. This side was a little greener than the windward Nag Kath had seen on his many trips to Dol Amroth. It had plenty of pirate hidey-holes too. 

With the prevailing breeze, Yervienies thought they would make the two-hundred league voyage from Pelargir to the Harnen mouth in something under three weeks. That would include docking at dusk along the Anduin to avoid rocks whose sole purpose was to rend the hulls of mariners. Ossë, Maia to the great Sea Lord Ulmo, took special delight dashing careless captains in his wrath.

The southeastern-most point on Tolfalas was across from a like point poking out from the coastal range of Harondor. There were streams, farms and a good road along the coast both above and below it but the spur was steep rocks all the way to the coast – good to know. Swertings thinking of taking sea breezes on their way north would have to get over a hard pass.

The trip was tedious. Sailors plied this route all the time and knew the occasional shoals. Nag Kath’s marines kept to themselves as much as possible on a fifty-two foot hauler and were useful at shipboard duties. Telgrin had been this way several times himself, albeit in better accommodations. 

Captain put-in at the port of Barad Harn just below the rocky point for fresh water and food. The taciturn Rhûn sprang for fruit and a beef haunch to general acclaim. Occasionally he talked with Yervienies about the coast in his odd accent. By then the White City men noticed Capt’n was not a Southron. Burned by wind and sun since he was a lad, swearing fluently in Haradric – the best of all earthly tongues for curses – he was actually a man of the Telengaur. Telgrin, Gondoran advisor to the barbarian trader, also spoke with pilot and crew, making sure not to reveal he knew much about their destination. Marine Ro-Jardïn was part Harad so his role was go-between when they made port.

Capt’n knew his winds. A gentle, helping breeze pushed them along the coast, passing, catching or being passed by mostly larger ships in both directions. He recognized quite a few and had the bosun signal the all-clear. They never had to use the ‘trouble-ahead’ banner. With water and food, they cleared the Port of Has Annún making for the outcropping that protected the Ethir Harnen from northern swells. 

This was now open-ocean. Crew was sharper. A day’s calm after breaching waves inspired a spirited game of dice amidships. Both the trader’s helpers and crew tried their luck. One of the Haradrim had a loaded die he slipped in on his turn. By some astonishing bad luck, it did not roll five whenever the blonde Rhûn was watching.

Swells hit the rump as Yervienies veered to port at Has Adri to skirt a finger of rock islands much like above Dol Amroth. After ordering the booms-man to veer towards the Ethir Harnen he was standing on the bow with Sergeant Timmons. The mariner said to the sea, “Your men are good.”

“Thank you, Captain. They are experienced hands in getting wares to Ithilien.”

“No doubt. Curious that you all tie your bedrolls with a belien-knot.” That was the standard marine hitch for stowing kit before a march. Timmons kept his face impassive. As he did, Yervienies rolled his sleeve past his elbow to show a tattoo of a troll with a sword through his forehead, proud mark of the elite Eärnil Marine Third Company. Capt’n scratched his arm as if rearranging fleas and rolled his sleeve back to the wrist. “A few of my crew has been stealing things here and there.”

“We noticed.”

“I intend to let them keep fleecing Ghondori sheep.” Watching a gull wheel behind the ship looking for fish in their wake he added, “I will wait for you.”

It was another four days before the Math Doumn rode the tide to the docks at Gobel Mírlond. Telgrin gave Nag Kath and the marines a sense of the scale but this was much larger than they expected. Fully ten-thousand people were crammed in the city and suburbs along the river flow. The city made its coin from the sea but there were another several thousand farmers served by small towns all the way to imposing foothills twenty miles inland.

After Timmons spoke with the Rhûn, another Florin found its way to Yervienies – cheap insurance now that the loyal man knew more than he should. Telgrin, Timmons and two of the other marines took rooms at a nice inn with the idea of sussing the city for rumors. The diplomat needed to learn the status of the embassy, discreetly. If ambassadors were dropping like midges, those inquiries should be done from a remove. His former personal aide took the same job for the newer men. Wallam could keep his mouth shut. Timmons enjoyed an indifferent barley-wine at a pub Wallam was known to frequent when he was lonely. That was often. 

Nag Kath and Ro-Jardïn took middling rooms nearer the wharf where the three heurzis trading houses controlled that market. Ro-Jardïn was an unexpected bonus. A handsome fellow; he spoke some Harad and could pass for one. Larger than the locals, he might be an enforcer had he been born here instead of third-son to a shopkeeper in Osgiliath. The marine also had a few small scars to support that contention. Nag Kath suspected the other guys bore worse.

The Elf said to his young aide, “The Peristonig Brothers’ compound is the one furthest inland.” That was the largest with the best dock. “I intend to request an audience without references. It won’t be fast, so I’ll sit by my window watching who visits. If nothing comes of it, I’ll go over the wall and renew acquaintances that way.”

Ro-Jardïn smiled with good teeth, “I did a little watching myself. People are nervous. Maybe they are always nervous. Soldiers act tough, but they are not organized. Perhaps troops further east know their business. What do you need from me?”

Nag Kath gave him a handful of coppers and a few silvers. “Do some marketing. See what merchants can’t keep in stock or if shoppers are complaining about price rises. Especially see what they say about Umbar. That thumb always presses the pulse of Mírlond.”

The man nodded and left to enjoy the sights and sounds of the port. Nag Kath drafted a letter to be delivered by the innkeeper’s lad to the trading house across the boulevard. Then he pulled his chair to the open window and watched the boy deliver it.

Peristonig Brothers sold more than worm-wool. A seasonal market, they had exclusive contracts with shippers up from Thân zîrân and sold it in controlled quantities. It made sense that arriving fabric would be anticipated by both sellers and buyers with a frenzy of bidding. Perhaps they sat on overstock and doled it out later when prices were strong. Other wares kept employees busy year-round. The two other trading houses would have a say in pricing but neither looked as prosperous as the brothers’ walled fortress. Traffic was limited to a delivery of groceries and four gentlemen who loaded a small cart. Two carried the purchase. Two were built like Nag Kath’s marine and stared at passersby. All four bore weapons.

Like just about every Haradrim ever born, Ubier would live in his facility. Gondorans, certainly successful Gondorans, often wanted space between the source and spending of their income to enjoy the company of other industry captains. Even Khandians did that. But down here, your home was your castle. Telgrin said you could trip over secret societies so the gentry would still manage to mingle with their like.

Ro-Jardïn returned with an assortment of modest local clothing, a count of ships in port and a small tub of scented lip-balm that these people made better than anyone else from the fat of huge fish. At the end of the business day, both went out to a restaurant for one of the best yellow-Odar dinners either ever had. 

Timmons had to wait a day until the former administrator joined friends at an eatery frequented by Gondorans. Few of their kind had ever been as far as Lebennin, but they had the blood and kept the lore. There were several militias that took training seriously. Telgrin knew them all and felt a little awkward skulking around the district he used to govern. A packet from Minister Francieth reinstated him as Ambassador, but that would only be presented if stealth gave way to action.

At the Forgiven Husband, a strapping trader just in from the north approached attaché Wallam sitting with friends from the chandlery trade. The newcomer smiled and cried, “Setho, it is good to see you again.”

The diplomat looked surprised as if remembering an old drinking-buddy and rejoined, “Why yes, it has been too long!”

“I am staying at the Inn of Eternal Favor. Perhaps you can get away …,” he grinned, “… if your duties aren’t too onerous.”

Wallam pretended to rummage through his social agenda, “Two nights hence, though that is not certain. Oh, you remember Ohrand? He died two weeks ago. In the meantime, someone might ask after the House of Benefit.” Wallam slapped the man on the shoulder, “Please give my best to your father!”

____________-------____________

Telgrin gripped the back of the chair he was standing behind until his knuckles were white. Ohrand was ‘eyes’ working the old quarter. That was a cushy assignment. Everyone knew he was a spy and told him inconsequential facts for inconsequential groats. At least where he worked might narrow inquiries.

The retired ambassador dashed-off a note to the Elf. Magic was his domain. Separately, word on the street was that local food did not agree with the new ambassador.

Nag Kath dressed in the clothes of mourning and brought a fresh loaf and flask of wine to the large cemetery well away from expensive creek-side ground. A freshly dug grave and clean stone was the resting place for poor Mr. Ohrand. The Elf knelt in prayer, biting a piece of the bread and laying the loaf on the stony soil. Then he sipped the wine and poured the remainder on the bread. Laying his hands on the mound in sorrow he felt something, something fell. It was faint, as Chievon said it would be. Wiping his eye, he wandered around the graves until he found the stone for deceased Ambassador Dubison. It gave no sign – too long cold to confine humors seeking release.

Indeed there had been upset at the House of Benefit, the unofficial name for the Umbari mission on this side of the river-mouth. They reported to Ramlond, the capital of Umbari Haruzan on the southern river bank. Reliable ears heard that one of their operatives in Mírlond had a seizure. Another asked to go home with recurring headaches and visions.

Wallam made his usual stroll to the tavern then turned sharply down an alley and backtracked to the Inn of Eternal Favor. He sat and ordered a cup of wine. Sarn’t Timmons joined him with the same camaraderie as two nights before. Both walked upstairs.

“It is good to see you sir, and in such fine fettle. I can imagine why you have returned …”

Telgrin offered as much of a grin as the situation permitted. “Afraid so. How is Ambassador Rendolan?”

“Off his feed. He might have gotten off the boat that way.”

“Mr. Wallam, these are my escorts, courtesy of the King’s marines. There are others. One of them investigated sorcery. He found it.”

Wallam nodded around the room and returned to his former chief. “Poison in another form, I suppose. I see you are whole. And the Southrons?”

Sarn’t Timmons answered, “We are not close enough to inquire, sir.”

Telgrin grimaced, “I have to ask, did we poison the Umbars?”

“Nope. They know that, at least. Perhaps someone working for the Hûks.”

“Which Hûk?”

“Take your pick, sir. We’ve heard naught. They are still fifty leagues apart with Amrûn in the middle. If Sakûn drives west, he has to cross the Harnen and face the Umbars or cross the Chelkar upriver – Tulbar’s turf ... winter at the earliest. Tulbar has no impediments in-front but then nothing keeps the southern dougsh from closing behind him and squeezing them between whatever defense the north can muster.”

Telgrin leaned forward, “Wallam, forgive me for asking you to discuss embassy affairs. I am here on higher authority, but I don’t like hiding from my own kind. We have men from the Ministry on their way to Umbar about now so there is an official front as well. Let us keep this quiet until we see who all the players are. How are ‘eyes’ now?”

“Middling. The Ambassador is keeping them in-house since all they have found lately is pox. I suppose the same held true for the Umbars. Do I want to know who represents our dark side?”

“Not yet.”

Nothing came of Nag Kath’s observations. He had not seen Ubier leave the compound in two days. Neither had Ro-Jardïn who had a sketch of a younger man and a large stick to whittle into a totem by a lesser gate near the water’s edge. That evening the Elf planned to visit over the wall. 

His perch did let him know how staff was deployed. There were five men among the warehouse hands who also kept an eye on the grounds. One carried a lantern inside the walls after dark checking gate locks. Burglars would need to get a lot further than the outside wall to reach the valuables in this business. Kidnapping was a concern.

Another advantage of observation was seeing where the cooking fires smoked. The larger one was just outside the warehouse building. A smaller one was beside a structure that had real glass windows. That was the target. 

The wizard was still not sure why he needed to see Ubier. Gondor already knew black humors had been summoned. And it seemed the Umbari weren’t responsible. Neither was his side. Still, the surviving Peristonig brother would know more than the local guardi about the ways of commerce. It seemed worth the risk, and he liked the man.

The sentry with the lantern was checking the west side at dusk when Nag Kath went over the east. He needed the ‘fast’ when a scullery maid waddled outside to feed her cat. There was a guard dog, although that was news to the dog. He seemed a pet too and sniffed the Elf’s trousers before wandering off to the bushes. Haradrim disdain dogs and seldom train them.

The door was unlocked with oiled hinges. Half a moon was enough. Ubier Peristonig was sitting with his wife in their main room after having dismissed the servants. He was gray, pushing seventy, but the same fellow after all those years. Nag Kath watched them for a moment. 

A small patch of worm-wool was suddenly lying across the trader’s thigh. He looked around. Not seeing anything and his wife knitting comfortably in a chair eight feet away, he brought it to his face for closer inspection. The image of Orlo was inked in the middle. Ubier said to his Marhousa, “My dear, I have a sudden craving for another of those sweet-cakes.”

“Not too many, mind. They keep you up at night.”

“Just one, I promise.” The man rose and wandered into his dining hall. 

“Hello?”

“Hello Ubier. It is Nag Kath.”

“Just a moment.” The Umbari turned back to the main room and announced, “My dear, I need to attend something in the workshop. I won’t be long.” Looking into darkness he whispered, “Twas you sent the note?”

“Yes, my friend. I am back in my old employ.”

“Here and now is not the time. Come tomorrow morning for tea.”

Morning tea in North Harnen is about the ten-bell Gondor-time. Nag Kath arrived looking Rhûnish with his small sample box of forty-three year-old heurzis. He was immediately shown into the businessman’s office. Ubier stood to bow and the two sat silently while tea and cakes were placed. When the door clicked behind the servant, Ubier said, “You have found me old and gray, My Lord. Much has changed in the world.”

“Indeed it has, my friend. I am glad life has treated you well.”

“It has, it has! My grandsons work just down the hall. I often think of you and our fantastic adventure! People believed me then. Now they tolerate me. I’m sure you heard Udan has joined our ancestors.” His tone changed, “You did too, for a time. You are in your old employment?” The man tested his tea and put it back on the saucer. “I hope new threats will not cause you to make us all witless.”

Nag Kath smiled and shook his head, “There are those who manage that without my help. But yes, new threats, really the old threats. The pattern emerges after a thousand years. Tribes of the east unite and look to live well by the sea. Can Umbar defend?”

“Their side, but they will need their eyes blacked before rousing their complacent spirit. The Hûks will be well along our beloved north bank before then. Umbar cannot lose Gobel Ancalimon.” He asked softly, “If the Swertings cross the Tharven and enter your King’s domain, what will he do?”

“Not much.”

“So true.” A grim grin; “We are orphans left on the steps of empire. The Duneishda do not protect in-force to respect Umbar. Umbar takes the hint. Unless Ghondor completely cedes the north bank to Umbar, Mírlond will be eating goat butter in five years.”

“I would not rule that out.” Nag Kath had no right to disclose any of Eldarion’s thoughts, but it was obvious Gondor had no enforceable claim to lands almost wholly occupied by a hundred-thousand Haradrim. The King’s best course would be to for diplomat Hembree to extract what he could from an agreement that let Umbar gradually control the upper bank so barbarian hordes didn’t scorch the Harnen.

The Elf continued, “No great loss to northern men. I think we can both agree that the danger is where the rivers meet.”

“You know, I’ve only been as far as Ancalimon once, probably selling fabric to Tulbar’s grandmother. And yes, I agree that more ballista are needed, pointed east.” Nag Kath recalled Ubier and Gharvies launching ballistae as fast as they could wind the cable when they broke out of the trap leaving Miraz. 

Ubier spoke more softly, “But I know you, Nag Kath of many surprises. You aren’t here as a soldier. There is mist in the air, yes?”

“Yes.”

When Fhalumn grew sick with head-pain and terrors seen only by him, I thought of you.” He smiled, “You and your bilge rock!”

“Same sort of thing, best of sirs. What can you tell me about the Order Houloch?” 

“Some. They keep to themselves. There is a sanctuary here and another in Ancalimon. Further east, I suspect. I only know because two man-servants went rogue and tried to blackmail one of my competitors. We spoke among ourselves and decided that a threat against one was against all.” He sipped, “Friends in the Society Kurtiez discouraged that.”

“I suppose I should start with the local witches. Any idea where to look?”

“No, but I know who does.”

If poor Telgrin was the Catanard pirate, Pelish was the comic unfortunate. And this was not Listracht’s affected shamble. The hunchbacked Mr. Pelish had to turn his head sideways to look up. In this society he might have been left to die on a hillside but fate somehow intervened. The man even had the gnarly baritone one expects from stage minions. “I was told by honored parties that you need information.”

“I do, sir. Thank you for favoring us.”

Nag Kath was sure the Ubier’s commission came with payment but Pelish would not mind double-dipping. That thought preceded the Elf asking, “Tell me sir. What know you of the Order Houloch?”

“Some.” Both an admission and the opening negotiation.

“Why don’t we start with everything you know.” That was said in perfect Haradric with an Elf-Lord face. The Rhûnic greenbottom guise only went so far.

Pelish steeled himself. “I know of the local sanctum. Five or six older women, that many younger ones and a fistful of men in their own wing.” The hunchback looked around for something more interesting than tea. The barman caught his glance and was over with wine for both.

Pelish took a modest pull, “The women are not allowed to, ahem, fraternize, if you take my meaning.” While he could not be considered an expert on beauty, the hunchback added, “Keeping men from their door cannot be a burden.”

“Where is their door, Mr. Pelish?”

“That depends on what you hope to find.”

“I seek to dissuade them from inviting eastern neighbors to your fair city.”

Pelish considered that seriously before saying, “It is a plain, brown building, three stories, well fortified on all sides. One way in or out at the street level. There are certainly others below grade. It is between a ko-ton warehouse and a burned-out tannery. The fire remains unexplained.”

The cripple swigged more wine, “You cannot approach within a hundred paces without being known to them.” Pelish looked his prospect up and down. “You attract attention. I repel attention.”

“Mr. Pelish, I may have set my aim too low. This Order Houloch; are they the only one of their kind?”

While the man mulled that, two silvers made their way across the table – one for information, one for silence. Pelish finished his cup and answered, “Many claim, few have talents. Know this, Duneishda, even long-lived men can die of black spider bites. Ask for Meiho at the copper guild if I can be of further service.”

For a man with such difficulty walking, he left quickly and quietly.

___________------___________

Telgrin called his shipmates. His accommodations were partially chosen for having a large, private room that could be rented for two groats. One marine sat in the tavern and another kept an eye to the back door. Ears cupped to the thick stone walls would hear only their own heartbeat.

The ambassador went first; “Someone is poisoning Eyes on our side and the Umbari. I may have been the first. They are more forceful now. Ohrand was investigating a smuggling ring three doors from the houlars, agents of the weapons ring that was destroyed in Osgiliath. They must have thought it was them. Dougsh! It probably was them. My aide in the embassy is aware of our activities. He is friend. It is no disservice to our current Emissary, but that man has also been ill. I do not know how any of us were contaminated.”

The Elf had more specifics; “I strolled by the sanctum. This morning I got as close as I dared. Their home is just below the hill with the yellow banner, don’t know the name. Tomorrow I will climb a ways and feel for disturbances.”

He decided these men needed to know as much as he did. They were all in deep. “Last year I discovered a witch who received training from this order. She was already a powerful sorceress. When she was brought into Tulbar’s service, a woman of Order Houloch, from Ancalimon, taught her some of their secret arts, far-speaking in particular.” 

He sipped tea. “I see this in simpler terms than I should, but I think the first order of business is trying to keep Tulbar and Sakûn away from Amrûn. Failing that, we want them to fight themselves when they get there. Ambassador, what say you?”

Telgrin was frank, “I don’t think anyone in their path can oppose them long. We need to assume they will reach the confluence. And yes, it would be better if their differences kept them there until they rot, or at least as long as it takes Umbar to whip their army together. They are built for naval battles.”

Nag Kath saw need to act. “Let us see what these witches are doing first. If they don’t have to travel to talk, they have a distinct advantage. What do you suppose they want?” He looked around the table but no one offered their thoughts.

The brown building had few windows, all on the south side. The hill was behind them so at least they couldn’t watch him from the comfort of their couch. Occasional men wandered around the perimeter but didn’t seem to be looking at or for anything. Chievon said being above them might help identify their sorcery. For three hours, the only thing emanating was heat shimmering off the roof. Like many roofs in this land, it was flat and used for sleeping when the inside became too hot. The cook-stove was outside in a small, fenced flat on the side of the burned tannery. 

Two men left together and returned with fresh groceries. Odd. If they had serving women, one would think they would gather ingredients for the evening meal. No, the only female who left the building carried out a rug and beat it against the fence before going back in. 

Things changed the next day after the ten-bell. Two women in black and a younger one in gray opened a hatch to the roof and climbed out the stairs – no easy thing in the voluminous dresses these Haradi women wear. They seemed to pray to a small shrine he hadn’t noticed in a nook along the parapet. Then the witches joined hands and faced east. That could not be seen from anywhere but the barren hill hiding the sorcerer. The novice stayed alone, head bowed.

He immediately felt a pulse; thin, directed upriver. They were communicating. Nag Kath could not tell meaning, or even if they heard anything back. These gals were not trading gossip. If their order was headquartered in Ancalimon; that was about forty leagues away. Ramlond was only ten. The far-speaking, if that’s what it was, only took a minute. All three climbed down the steps and shut the hatch.

Telgrin was bored. So were the marines. This was going to take a while. They reassembled after the working day so Mr. Wallam could join. The wiry man leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and began, “Ambassador Rendolan seems sicker. His color is poor and I’ve noticed a tremor in his hands – handwriting, holding a cup, little things.”

Telgrin looked at Nag Kath and nodded. It was time to pull rank, especially since Ambassador Rendolan needed magical intervention. That had to be subtle. Spell-binders would know if someone burned-off their curse. Wallam would inform his Excellency when he got home. 

The next morning Nag Kath visited the dock. Capt’n Yergienies saw him waiting patiently and walked down the gangway, away from his crew. The braided Rhûn was holding his sword in the scabbard. He never wore it on the trip and kept it on the belt in port. As the pilot approached his employer gave him a nod and said in perfect Westron, “Thank you for your service. I thought you would like to see this.”

Nag Kath slowly pulled a foot of steel out of the sheath, holding the hilt to the Captain. Yergienies wasn’t sure what this was about but it wasn’t a threat so he nodded back and slowly extracted the weapon. The changeling continued, “This is it, a little the worse for pulling it out of his stone head – same one scowling at the western breakwater.”

The marine held it with both hands and turned his back to the sun to see the scarred blade, same image inked in his flesh to honor King and country. Yergienies gazed in awe for quite a while before handing it back, hilt first. He had to clear his throat twice before; “I have two daughters. I will tell them it was all worth it.”

“Not too soon, mind.” Nag Kath put his finger along his nose. “You can leave whenever you want. We are called inland and may be some time.” Even among heroes, there are practical considerations. Nag Kath added, “The gold is yours. May Ossë bless your return.” 

The Elf collected Telgrin at his inn and they made their way to the Gondoran post. It was not a straight line. They would advance a block, seeming lost in conversation, while the taller one with a pullover cap spun in a circle animating some tale. As they got closer, pauses were more frequent. Then they completely circled the compound before a discreet knock at the back gate.

Ambassador Rendolan hadn’t been here a week when he fell ill. It could be a new diet, the water, something in the air – but it kept getting worse. Wallam was forgiven and thanked for his complicity the conspiracy. Staff was waiting to guide the visitors to a private office Telgrin knew well. 

Rendolan greeted them fulsomely. This was duty and the jaundiced man made himself rise. The Ambassador had never met his predecessor but given Wallam’s explanation, there was no animosity. This was bigger than local politics and he would do his part. Francieth’s letter was the dragon card, if needed. Telgrin said he would stay on the quiet-side. Rendolan hadn’t met the Elf either but everyone in the service of Gondor knew who he was. 

After pleasantries, it was time for healing. Nag Kath said, “Please excuse some intrusive questions but I need to know all about your malady.”

Harmon Rendolan had a sip of tea, Telandrin, and said, “I was right as rain getting off the boat. Within the week I noticed a loss of energy – my grip wasn’t firm, I kept dropping things.” Another sip, “Dry as a bone. I’m forty-two and still fit in my uniform. This has been a jolt.”

Nag Kath looked at every face and then at Rendolan launching into; “Sir, you have been poisoned, and poisoned by witchcraft. So was Mr. Telgrin and probably your predecessor along with a couple Umbari ‘eyes’. It would come as no surprise if there are others uncounted. 

“Now for the bad news.” It could have been the setup for a joke but he kept his face stern, “I could remove your complaint, but it would alert the sorceress’ that they are discovered. What I suggest is a close examination to see what they have done. Then it might be possible to ease your troubles without breaking the link. What say you to that?”

“Do so with dispatch! What do you need?”

The healer had him remove his vest and shirt, placing hands on his back, neck, face and wrist. It was the same Lostorin variant Chievon used on Keprand. “Mr. Rendolan, you have been given a common herb that was altered by sorcery to retain magic in your body – a binder. Spells applied over that damaged your vitality.

“It seems, and please correct me if I am wrong, that the people these witches want dead are spies. The people they want in place; they weaken.”

Telgrin shook his head, “Bad news for poor Ohrand.”

The healer asked, “Mr. Rendolan, have you felt or heard voices – thoughts unbidden that are not of your usual mind?”

“Now that you mention it; yes. I thought it was just my illness, but some notions are unlike me.”

“Do any come to mind?”

The Ambassador cracked a wan smile, “It occurred to me that I should replace the cook.”

Nag Kath’s nascent grin began to emerge. Wallen looked at him and asked, “Yes?”

The royal brother-in-law sat back, chin in hand, and began his counterstroke. “We have a sanctum of sorceress’ making trouble here and speaking to the east. They have a friend in Tulbar. I already turned his main witch, but new ones are being trained-up. Let us assume Sakûn has ears also. Perhaps inserting our own tidings will make their triumphant meeting in Amrûn all the merrier.”

Lunch was served. If the bad ‘uns wanted Rendolan in place, he would stay there with Telgrin lurking in shadow. Nag Kath was able to relieve his symptoms. The witches wanted to influence him. Feeling rotten was a side effect. He was to pay special attention to outside thoughts. Marines watched for women in black no closer than a block from the sanctum. Most women here wear dark clothes but a few answered the description, always in pairs with a male minder, carrying routine items for their sustenance. Nag Kath spent a lot of time up the hill watching activity on the roof. Only once in four days did anyone come up, in this case, the same three as last time. 

Since he couldn’t divine what they said, he would give them something to talk about and see what happened.

____________-------____________

The new cook met with a tragic accident on his way to market. A brace of brutish louts was arguing and pushed him in the way of a two-horse carriage. Poor Haimus looked like he might recover but failed, even after a tall, kindly man staunched the bleeding.

The kindly man stood and made the sign of the circle over the star-crossed victim. A few minutes later a bringing spell hoisted him to the roof of the sanctum before tidings of the accident reached this quarter. He risked them feeling the power but there would be no tiptoeing through that nest of witches. It still might take more than one dead cook to far-speak their news. The murder paid-off when three women emerged on the roof ten minutes later. One witch and the novice were the same. The other was elderly and needed help with the steps onto the roof slates. 

What had the hunchback said; ‘biting black spiders’?

The two in black joined hands and the older woman rasped a chant upriver. The words were Haradric but made no sense. From his hiding place behind the rain collector he might have misheard. More probably it was code. The three turned and the old lady caught a whiff of something. Nag Kath ducked behind the barrel as she shook it off and accepted help with the stairs.

He could have just killed her. Of course, the hag might have kicked him off the ledge like a fence-rat. Nag Kath’s only head-to-head encounters with fellow sorcerers were remnants of greater power in lesser hands. He knew against the three wizards or the Nazgûl he would be a child. Who knew what this old lady brought to bear? Slaying every witch downstairs might solve staffing problems at the embassy, but it put them no closer to the larger solution. 

Telgrin could stay unseen at the inn but guests notice things and he was known in better districts of the city. A barber who specialized in older gentlemen shaved his Northman beard and applied dark stain to his sandy hair. Some of the garments Ro-Jardïn bought were his size.

_____________----------_____________

Further upriver in the port city of Gobel Ancalimon, a queer conference was held. 

“Our grip is weakened. The servant delivering the binder was killed. It did not seem murder. Sister Meriet informs us the northerling remains tethered to our shared-mind, but without frequent binders her hold thins.”

Granciel was the clearest of the far-speakers. As was to be expected, she was not strongest overall. They each had their specialties. Hierr’s was order. She decreed, “We must watch the Ghondor. They are the unknown. Umbar will do what sluggards do. The Hûks are less stable, but they have fewer options. The Khandian dark-witch lost in the Ghondor cannot be replaced. Has there been any sign of her?”

Belenchu, keeper of lore and memory, answered, “No. Celinieth among the Chelkar host has lost that thread as well. The Hûk’s cousin returned from the Pelennor with word the Variagia’s body was taken from her home by operatives of ‘the Kath’. The Ghondor destroyed Tulbar’s arms supply. The Hûk has what he needs. Many in our service were brought low.”

Hierr scowled, “The Kath? Three times in my long life he has emerged from blackness.” When no one had anything else to say she stated what all knew, “Our Mistress has instructed that Celinieth remain with Tulbar for now. Jheriza remains with Sakûn. Pray for them.” 

The woman looked to the other four faces in the room – all counselors of great experience – tested in harsh conditions. Imprea was youngest, nearly to the level of the others in sorcery, but mindful of her recent elevation to the circle. She ventured, “Perhaps the new cook has an accident as well?”

Hierr appraised at her protégé neutrally. A blunt force, but with audacity and cunning. “Not yet. We must leave it to Miriet in Mírlond to contrive a new binder. But yes, if needed. Granciel, inform our sisters that the Ghondor meddlers remain of the first water.” 

Ambassador Rendolan was recovering. Dreams brought to him by the Vala Lorién were his own. Nag Kath needed more contact with the witches so he broke the Lostorin chain. The women would feel it. Perhaps they would try to replace it. Rendolan knew he was the staked-goat, but warriors take risks for their lords.

The diplomat had an unusual image the night before. When it came to him he recalled seeing it weeks past. There was a kiosk in the jewelers’ market, unprepossessing, good quality, something lovely to send his sister in the land of Gondor. Nag Kath was at the embassy by porridge. 

Rendolan nodded in thought, “Sorry, I did not remember having been called, but I have been called again. I was suddenly taken with the need to buy my sister a charm for her birthday. She is a dear woman, but her birthday was last month.”

The Elf wondered, “I have been there, several times, which stall?”

“An actual shop; third from the end on the third row. It has a ko-ton awning made to look like heurzis. Strange … I don’t remember the merchant.”

“No accident; that. You might not this time either. Do you know anyone along the route?”

The ambassador thought a moment, “Not really. I had only arrived when I fell to the curse.”

“When are you called to shop for charms?” 

“I had no strong sense of time.”

Nag Kath said grimly, “You will not be alone.”

Rendolan had his new ‘eyes’ with him; a tall youngster with straight, blonde hair doggedly absorbing the finer points of diplomacy. Like most southern vendors, business was done under the awning outside and goods were stored with the owner’s family inside. They arrived at the counter and were admiring the craftsmanship as the shopkeeper waited patiently. A middle-aged woman loitered at the table across the alley looking at leather belts. She wore no belt, probably never had, and was examining merchandise without actually paying attention to it.

The Ambassador seemed close to deciding on earrings when his old friend Hengar saw him from across the square and called with a hearty cheer. “You appear hale!”

“I am Hengar! Something in the food, I fear. A change of diet seems to have cured all. Hengar, may I present my new aide Solvanth?”

Hengar was a tall, clean-shaven northerling with dark hair who dressed like a Catanard pirate. The fellow gripped the young man’s hand in the disgusting Ghondor fashion saying, “Splendid. I am sure you will do us proud in this fair city.”

The tall aide said respectfully, “I certainly hope so, sir.”

The gregarious old friend turned back to Rendolan more solemnly in a voice that carried, “Sorry to hear about poor Ohrand. I hope he didn’t suffer.”

“It was quick, at least. Young Solvanth here will be stepping into his shoes – did that sort of thing in Dol Amroth.”

Hengar regained his bonhomie, “Be careful where you poke, young sir.”

That got an earnest, “I shall do my best, Mr. Hengar.”

The Ambassador chose a lovely set of earrings for dear Hailieha’s birthday next year and the three went their separate ways.

____________------------___________

“The thread is lost?”

“Broken. He purchased a jewel just the same. Mehnat could not get close enough to administer the haiem. With him was a young stripling. An indiscreet Ghondor approached them and revealed the young man was here to replace the one we stopped from nosing in our affairs. Mehnat said he seemed rather stupid. She followed the man-child around the city as he ate and drank and leered at painted females.”

“If the chieftain is too strong for occasional binders, the youngster might be a better choice. Make the arrangements.”

____________-------------___________

The youngster continued learning the underside of the city, mostly in the Old Quarter where the sorceress’ sanctum was centered in that densely-packed warren. The new one was poorly trained! He ate local food, drank modestly and was seen following women of the night up staircases. 

At an inn known for fish, a friend of a friend was persuaded to add local spice to the greenbottom’s late meal. It took a while to work on the healthy specimen but when he rose to return to the embassy, Mehnat could see he had lost buoyancy in his step. She waited for him to turn on the Avenue of the Heroes and was about to cast her spell when she was illuminated in yellow light.

A lovely place for a private chat, he sat her down and asked questions. She did not want to answer them. More yellow. She did. If the fifteen minutes they enjoyed together, Mehnat described their local organization, what she knew of the sanctum in Ancalimon and some interesting things about Hûk Sakûn. She returned to her haven strangely refreshed with glad news of a flawless Taking. With luck, the witch wouldn’t be tested for receiving what she was supposed to administer.


	25. Eye on the World

**_Chapter 25_ **

**_Eye on the World_ **

_The whal would have stayed but his hand was badly burned. Niefahra had not been trained in healing. She listened until the boot-clicks were gone before looking at the orb in the sun. Being devoid of any characteristics, imagination could assign it a certain beauty. She slowly approached and placed her palms on the surface. It took both of them to produce the link._

_This time she saw the old man in white almost immediately – now more circumspect than before. The cove stared intently but was again overcome in mist, burned away by the yellow Eye._

_“So, child … you have done as ordered. That deserves favor. Was the servant helpful?_

_“He was, Kel-Lord.” She figured the Eye must rank as high as the King of this land. Maybe it was Sauron, but he was said to be a giant. This was just an eye. “We are atop the gray stone pillar.”_

_Niefahra felt power seeping from hands to arms to heart. The unmoored voice said more sternly, “Years hence you will take greater errands. To do that, you must last in my measure of time.”_

_As in Piersh; the witch’s hair blew straight back and she was surrounded by flame, but only for an instant. It ended with a slight wisps of smoke curling from her garments but no harm to the soft face. Her hair was turned entirely silver._

_The voice now echoed, perhaps out loud, perhaps only in her mind, “Learn the craft of the women. In long years, when that is done, you will be mistress. Trust no one.”_

_Shortly afterwards, the Kel-Lord called his larger council to him. That included the Assistant Chamberlain who had injured his hand. Reaû was a more competent administrator than most, not assured in a position maintained in blood. At forty-two, the man had a wife, two concubines and lesser mistresses who all bore him children. The older boys’ mothers were already jockeying intensely for their offspring. Two of the unofficial women were sisters, which only complicated matters. It was of little consequence to Reaû since he hardly saw the brats. When they were older he would teach a few the art of lordship and see who survived._

_Gureeq ale was brought. Reaû tabled his mug with a thud and stared low at the men in shorter chairs around the table. Wiping his beard with his sleeve, “We received a missive from Lord Kamûl. It is as we thought; Umbar’s fleet was largely destroyed by the Duneishda four years ago. The Council concealed their losses but it will take a generation to re-ship. Mûmikils and coastal troops will still travel the Ithilioch route, but Harad’s support for our master must come from here and the eastern Hûks.”_

_It seemed to the silent men surrounding the Kel-Lord that his last sentence left a bad taste in his mouth. Another swig of ale cleansed the palate, “They will travel upriver to Kupshe. Hûk Helban of Oud needs to be brought to heel, now!”_

_Dierig saw his chance. He was a servant of Mordor but, as everyone in that position knew, favor and advancement depended on initiative. More upsetting, he knew he did not have the power of the comely witch who could speak to dark ones in the black realm. In boldness his assumed character usually did not display, Dierig helpfully mentioned, “Most High, it seems the hoular women can speak to each other through the air.” Back to his affected intonation, “Who knew? Shall I make inquiries?”_

_No one but the Kel-Lord knew why the man was even seated in a largely military meeting. Dierig reported to the head Chamberlain who was doing what he was supposed to somewhere in the palace quarter. Reaû studied eyes around the table and replied, “It can’t hurt.”_

_At the same moment in their humble quarters near the north gate, Mistress Blûh sipped the last of the Telandrin with her council. “Events are in motion, sisters. Umbar is neutered. In the Ghondor, the Steward is dead, replaced by his son. Sauron is now master of the east. All his will is bent on restoring the citadel of Gorgoroth. Perhaps not in my life, but in the short measure of his he will call armies to him.”_

_She paused and looked at her political officer Estah who continued, “Reaû has been ordered by the wraiths to prepare. The Chelkar Hûks, who cannot imagine labors lasting longer than harvest to harvest, have been slow to muster in fealty. Our Kel-Lord must either win them over to join the Mordor host or subdue them on the way by. That means having the east Harnen warlords in his train. So; he has fronts both east and north with no hope of reinforcement from the useless Umbari.”_

_She gathered herself, as she always did before delivering the conclusion, “We will be brought into service. In some ways the timing is poor since we recently added the strange young woman and her magical stone without knowing much of it. Still, this has been brewing since the old Steward’s decline, probably well before. Either way, we do know that Niefahra’s touch can be felt by those like us for dozens of leagues beyond our sight. It is time to expand our influence with women of air and fire in allied lands, if only for our own survival.”_

_They looked at Blûh whose impassivity confirmed decisions already made. Estah assigned duties; “Lhurza; teach the girl who we are as soon as can be. She will want advancement. The price is learning to use that stone without Mordor knowing so we can create a network of houlars in Harad and Umbar – Khand perhaps – if we live that long.”_

_Blûh sat with her tea in her lap on the cushion. With a sigh, “Yes, begin at once. Oh, and keep the fair lass away from Reaû’s lusty eyes. He has enough concubines. Perhaps he can have her as primary wife after she is better trained.”_


	26. Upriver

**Chapter 26**

**Upriver**

Nag Kath needed to go upriver. Local spies on both sides only kept eyes on important players in the river-mouth. The women who kept eyes on the Hûks were in Ancalimon. That was Umbar territory, with no ifs or buts. This had to be an official mission with the knowledge, if not the enthusiasm, of Ramlond. 

The embassy staff was assembled. By now, Hembree should be in Umbar. If diplomacy followed its usual schedule, they would have begun discussing the shape of the discussion table. Ramlond was the place to go first. The Shûsan there would report directly to the Supreme Council, but he had his own fish to fry. He was also the military governor of Haruzan. 

More than anywhere on earth, maybe even Khand, one does not dance in to see the administrator of an Umbari province, even an unofficial province. There are layers upon layers of protocol. The first step was visiting the Shûsan-tok (under lord) here in Mírlond to clear the path. Since he and Rendolan were of roughly equal rank, it only took a few days to arrange.

The Ambassador brought his young aide Solvanth, Mr. Wallam and a scribe should anything need noting in the annals. Shûsan-tok Loa Brengaru had a like cadre of attendants. Telgrin would have helped but even in his new guise, he would be recognized. Rendolan and Brengaru had never met due to the Ambassador’s distress. All eight men made their way to an ornate conference room and went through the scripted greeting that higher-lords must observe.

The Shûsan-tok had considerably more importance than the Gondoran administrator. Harad held to the tradition that the man in charge got a taste of all commerce. He sent most of it to Ramlond and they sent most of that to Umbar, but this was a lucrative position and very sought. Umbar saw more ‘squeeze’ from their subjects than the Gondorans who used taxes for upkeep but didn’t send much to the King. That created loopholes. After seven generations, those of mixed-blood had to prove they were mostly of northern stock to avoid the ‘squeeze-farmers’ unless they could afford to live in the Embassy district.

Brengaru spread his hands in greeting and said in Westron, “I am glad to learn you are feeling better, esteemed guest.”

That could be interpreted several ways. Were they guests in the Shûsan-tok’s compound or in the land of the Harad? Rendolan knew the forms, “Your welcome is the warmest possible token of your peoples.” Meaning; this is larger than our little world of Gobel Mírlond.

“How can my humble office assist in our mutual contentment?”

Rendolan put his fingertips together and started slowly, “I must attend matters in Ramlond, courteous sir. Reports from the east have caused my highest lords to contemplate our continued harmony. Perhaps from there to further east …,” he spoke deliberately, “… with the full approval of those who shine their light on friendly consultation.”

“That should pose no difficulty. I appreciate your bringing this to me.” It showed proper respect and wouldn’t catch the Haruzan authorities flat-footed. Gondor didn’t have an embassy in Umbar. Brengaru didn’t know one was already sailing there and Rendolan pretended not to know either. High Lords don’t always tell subordinates secret plans. Either way, the Shûsan-tok had no problem with the Ghondors sailing across the bay. Traders did every day.

Brengaru smiled, “I will have a letter of introduction prepared by sunset.”

So far, so good. Other than being introduced, Nag Kath said not a word. He was there to see if anyone in the room, or in passing, showed signs of possession. They didn’t. The subject of ailing Umbari operatives wasn’t mentioned either. If Brengaru suspected fell-distress, that was no business of pasty Duneishda.

The ship used for official business was readied. Capt’n Fortdale’s crew were Mírlond Gondorans. This was a high-level embassy to the Shûsan of Haruzan, Umbar’s largest province and a hereditary fief with all that meant. Moran, son of Motha, was the eighth Prince in the line which automatically came with a seat on the Supreme Council, proxy-held by his cousin Vhram. When the second Prince was slain by Rohirrim on the Pelennor, his nephew took the reins and came to terms with Elessar’s protectorate in short order. Benefits flowed to his issue. Northerlings made their comical claims above the river and kept their modest outpost with the flag of Gondor flying for few to see. It was a fiction, but not an obstacle. They bred fewer criminals than the locals, respected the correct religion and brought interesting things from greater Middle-earth, including the heurzis from deep-south. The Numenorean traders would only stop in the Ethir Harnen on their way to the Anduin so the extraordinary cloth went south again from here to the deserving in the Bay of Umbar. That commerce was not to be disrupted.

Telgrin was on board for this voyage. He represented Rendolan who had to remain at the embassy with unspecified obligations. With the legate came the new aide and four strapping embassy staff to attend his position. The sailors were soldiers too. After two days of tacking with a southerly wind, the ship tied to the pier at slack tide. The newcomers were impressed. In some ways it was like Bozisha-Dar; Numenorean capital buildings with local housing mudded-in-place like mortar between blocks. One of the Elessar-Duneishda climbed the main mast for a better sense of the majesty. He felt nothing and shimmied-down in the usual fashion.

Luxury quarters were prepared within a block of the palace. The embassy had cash and so did the aide. As much as their arrival in Mírlond was meant to be humble, this was for majesty. Servants, who would certainly speak Westron well, offered fawning and beaming greetings for the esteemed sirs. Oddly, and certainly beneath his station, the tall lad wandered through the kitchen. Servants tittered that he was sniffing for cooking smells of his northern home.

Ramlond was the capital of the province but it was still a long way from the Supreme Council in Umbar. To commute one either needed about three weeks to sail around the nose of Caldûn or ride the excellent road of fifty leagues across the mountainous peninsula. Messengers were sent back and forth almost daily so the reigning Shûsan only visited the capital every-other year, almost always on a ship so as to maintain his comfort.

A servant presented Brengaru’s official report on the emissaries for the Shûsan’s consideration. The man had no obligation to hear the Ghondoran envoy, but they might have insight into the eastern barbarians’ squabbles. Umbar was interested in tidings.

It still took three days of milling about in rather splendid quarters and eating excellent food silently tested by the smiling junior aide. A sentry from the palace arrived at mid-afternoon saying they would be received the following morning for tea. Telgrin, using his own name, was fitted in his finest. Aide Solvanth wore clothing in the Dol Amroth fashion, hair covering his ears. Both men bore spare swords, expecting to surrender them.

Telgrin was agog. Nag Kath had seen this before on both ends of Miraz. The Umbari here strongly identified with the Numenoreans they dispossessed. It did not take them long to outgrow their tribal origins and appreciate the finer aspects of the great, northern civilization. And they used that to lord over the peoples who took their place along the desert rivers. 

The young aide dawdled in awe of the mosaic flooring as they made their way to the business-end of the palace. One pattern of ancient symbols veered off towards what they thought might be the residential quarters. Those tiles were newer than the rest. Aide Solvanth wandered that way, asking his escort if the sculptures to either side of the entrance were by the famed artist Manchus. The guide said they absolutely were, pleased the Duneishda knew of their proud heritage.

Moran, son of Motha, was seated in a throne in this his high reception-hall. Ectilla could have drawn him in one of her children’s adventure books fitted in desert fashion with hints of Dúnedain. The man himself was as swarthy as any Swerting eating cholla patties by the prow. The two Gondoran’s stepped to the prescribed distance and bowed. 

Moran held a jeweled hand to his chin, the sign of a ruler, before resting it on the arm of his throne. The man said smoothly in Haradric, “Welcome, envoys of High Elessar. We are blessed by your presence.”

Telgrin replied, “Thank you, esteemed Shûsan. Your hospitality is renowned.”

“And what can the Lord of Haruzan do to assist your worthy labors?” He already knew, but hearing it from the northerlings might add insight.

“My superiors are concerned about troubles east of both our lands, rightful Lord. With your consent, we hope to travel to the cities upriver and report our findings.”

What he meant by that was the trip might need to touch both sides of the river, depending on the welcome. They could stay on their own side all the way and it was officially none of Umbar’s business. The road was fair, but more likely to have advance-scouts of Tulbar picking their fingernails with the knives of fleeing peasants. Taking a pole-barge upriver might also require docking on either side, both for the company one might find and the natural currents of the flow. Most of all, they were looking for trouble on either bank, specifically Gobel Ancalimon, last outpost of the realm of Umbar. That was as far as they should reasonably go.

The implication was that these servants of Elessar (forever the title of the Reunited King) would share tidings with the honored Lord of Haruzan. He had spies thick as fleas on both sides of the river. Still, the pale-ones might unearth tidings his men and women missed. Moran had nothing to lose. Forms required him to deliberate so he decreed, “I will confer with my advisors. Please enjoy our celebrated capital while you are here.” 

‘Eyes’ would observe while the northerlings waited. That was fine. Nag Kath needed to explore the humors wafting though the regional hub. Telgrin thought deliberations in the palace might last a week. The Shûsan had probably made-up his mind, but time-off in this lovely place would give the adventurers perspective. 

While the Elf and Ro-Jardïn wandered through low company, Telgrin and Sarn’t stayed to the patrician districts. They were followed, professionally, by men who were used to being seen. Truly quiet-men tailed their own subjects. For a pair of northern greenbottoms, this was as much body-guarding as surveillance. The pretty young man seemed awfully interested in females. Who could blame him? Smooth, tan women of the region looked back and whispered with their companions about the guileless foreigner. The lad did no more than ogle as he wandered the city, occasionally buying cough herbs.

Anyone observing him might have wondered why the young Duneishda suddenly snapped his head in the direction of Mírlond. He stood deathly still, like a hunting-dog sniffing the wind for his master’s prey. After a moment he turned the exact opposite direction and loped off as if having forgotten an errand. Even the government man had a hard time keeping up. When Mefto got there, he saw the blonde staring at a nondescript brown home with windows only on the south-side and a flat roof. 

The attaché scratched his head as if having wasted his time and resumed strolling the lovely city of Ramlond. Nag Kath was fairly sure the witches did not know he was here. Before he left Mírlond, he transferred their spiced humor of possession to Ubier’s cook’s well-fed cat. Those creatures can accept the link, but are notoriously hard to influence.

____________-------____________

“So, we got some here too?”

“Aye. Same sort of place as in Mírlond. I suppose they have to keep their eyes on Moran’s lot. Ancalimon is where we draw blood.”

Telgrin wondered, “Same sort of lass as you scotched in Tirith?”

“Not by a long-shot. She was enhanced by Morgoth. Chievon was rare, and I’d wager they would dearly love to get their hands on another like her. She is an exquisite creature of old, sorcerous bloods. These local girls must have some small power, healers in our world, developed with disciplines well before my time.”

“And what is your time, since we are such good friends these days?”

“I just turned one-hundred thirty eight. It seemed infancy to the Elves but they are now aging or gone. I am the oldest left. Yet I bring my magic against women considered old at sixty. Power increases if it doesn’t kill you. I’ve now had a second chance at intrigues that only happen once a century.”

The changeling assessed his companion, “And you, my friend? You got your second chance much younger. What will you do if we get out of this alive?”

Telgrin grinned, “I have asked myself the same thing. Rendolan seems to have the embassy running smoothly. The letter to take command was at need. I hope it is not needed. I’ve never had much money. It seemed enough to stumble about, peeing on my slippers. Now that I’m fit, I’m not sure. I was a fair soldier before diplomacy. Let us pray there is no future in that.”

He added more to the mission, “Let us also assume that the Shûsan graces our expedition with letters to his functionaries along the way. We have the right ship. We have good men. Crewman Dan is from a little town between Amrûn and Ancalimon so he knows the river that far. But he looks like the Prince of Ithilien, so no good for sneaking.”

Nag Kath was silent for a moment and Telgrin knew to let him cogitate. Finally the changeling said, “Even my thick head learns new things. When I caught that witch far-speaking, I still could not tell meaning, but I think I could do it myself – perhaps to the sorceress that tried to take me. Perhaps only for Ubier’s cat. When I get the chance, I’ll see if I can make one of them scratch her arse.” He stood slowly, “We gain in power.”

They received word in five reasonable days to attend the High Shûsan after the luncheon hour tomorrow. It was just after porridge today. Ro-Jardïn walked out the front door for a breath of air. Then he walked back in, closing the door behind him. That was obvious to the shadow across the street. He missed a blur of Elf slipping into the alley. 

Nag Kath spent his morning perched atop a minaret two blocks from the front palace gate. The tower was for the Sayings and bell-ringing of the Order Xordees. Today wasn’t one of their holy days so no one was expected. They were a secret society of scholars. He grinned. At least they would be easy to avoid. 

At about the usual far-speaking time in Mírlond he caught a signal from there to the brown house one district over. Then he got what he wanted, a relay of that message directed upriver. More importantly, he sensed a reply, and it was stronger. 

When the two Gondoran legates presented themselves at the Shûsan’s, his Chamberlain apologized that his Excellency was detained but they were free to go. He handed them an ornate envelope, unsealed, with six single-page documents instructing any of his subjects to accommodate the honored representatives in any way asked. 

________-------________

Each arrival was different; the first humble, the second grand. Next came clandestine. They knew two desert tribal leaders had conquered their respective river-valleys and probably lusted for greater empire to their west. They were on a collision-course. They might decide they had as much as they would get. As sorry as that was for their populace, it was the best of the likely outcomes for everyone else. Next best was that they fought to great slaughter. The winner would consolidate the loser’s ground and it would be another generation before they dreamt of the sea.

Worst was they joined forces and presented a united front against an empire that had long forgotten what it was to fight eastern barbarians.

Gobel Ancalimon would tell. Moran, son of Motha, didn’t share what he thought of Shûran Imbraer with the Duneishda. They knew Imbraer had horses. It was a big city. It was the next big city if Amrûn fell. But it was also on the Umbar side of the river. Either or both Hûks would travel on the north bank if they could. They might also keep to their respective sides taking both banks – to each his own and no need for unpleasantness. 

Telgrin and Nag Kath pushed the pieces around the board. They needed to see the defenses at the Tharven River. If a large army couldn’t cross easily, they would have to ford by where Tulbar was now and march the wastes of Imladrim downriver of Amrûn to attack from the west. If so, Sakûn could attack from the east in a pincer. Neither barbarian had boats or ships in siege quantity so this would be decided on land unless Amrûn could barge in supplies and soldiers. 

More than anything, the allies needed to buy time against the chance that Umbar would defend the north bank. All of the great wealth that land produced for comfortable southern lords would be lost to desert Swertings with no sense of fitness, staring across the river, waiting to pounce.

As usual, the prevailing breeze was blowing east. Their ship the Bresto was built for bay and river travel. When current and wind was against, Hanieru described teams of oxen hired along the south Harnen bank to haul vessels upstream.

Captain and crew were ready to push-off the stifling docks. With such tide as reached this far, they fought the current north from the Ramlond inlet and rounded the turn into the Harnen. Ancalimon was another seventy miles, at about the same pace as from Pelargir to Rammas. There was no shortage of little towns to tie-up for the night. Food, gaming, gureeq wine and companionship were available. The men stayed onboard.

Four days east they reached the River Yayb flowing from the north bank. It was a good-sized flow – a devil to cross for infantry. The river wasn’t that deep but quite wide with the sort of mud bottom that swallows boots. Good to know.

Another three lazy days put them ten miles west of the great fortress of Gobel Ancalimon. The ship was on the north side of the river so they ventured up the Tharven River, border between Imladrim and Harondor, as far as was safe given the unknown bottom and not much room to maneuver – no ox teams waiting for paying customers here. They still managed a couple miles upstream which gave them a good look at both banks. The southernmost useable ford was said to be another eight miles north. Unless it was a trickle in winter, infantry would have a rough time getting across this too. With only frightened farmers looking, Nag Kath and Ro-Jardïn hopped off with their packs for a trip to the crossing. The ship drifted downstream until they could turn her and made for the city of Tharven they passed on the way by.

Ro usually didn’t say anything until asked. Then he would yammer until you told him not to. Nag Kath let him talk about his home in Osgiliath. Everyone knew the Elf was a peripheral royal, ancient and a magician of some stripe. Ro asked a few discreet questions. Kath of the Water talked about building the great aqueduct in the time of King Elessar. He didn’t mention his wife, sister to the current King.

The two hikers made the lowest ford just as the sun was setting. Ro went back into his quiet mode, which was fine by Nag Kath. While the marine slept, Elf eyes watched the moon on the water. At dawn, they climbed up a modest hill on the west bank and looked at the ground needed for moving an army. It could be done without barges, and Tulbar wouldn’t have barges. Like the tributaries at Nennûrad, stout ropes could be stretched between poles and men could be pulled across on loops. It would take forever but, with no one objecting on this bank, their only risk was running out of food. They trudged back to Tharven in time for a tasty river fish much like the ones near Tharbad.

Nag Kath and Telgrin considered their entrance. They had the Shûsan’s letters safely in pocket. When and how to present one to the Shûsan of Ancalimon would depend on what they found. For such a large city, walled completely around on land, it had surprisingly few wharfs. A bevy of vessels ranging from larger than theirs to one-man paddle-boats waited with varying degrees of patience for openings. A shouted question from the deck determined these were the free berths. Upriver nearer the eastern wall was where pilots with coppers would be treated better. Nine groats a night got them a pier-end and a scowl from the hard-used dock-hand. 


	27. The Web

**_Chapter 27_ **

**_The Web_ **

_Both councils in the Ghalibatu behaved as if they knew high-secrets, but they knew barely more than anyone else. It has been four years since Umbar sent any of their vaunted dragon-ships to the Citadel of Amrûn. Mordor’s mountain had been smoking steadily for eight years, even though Sauron proclaimed himself a generation before._

_The houlars knew there were women, and the occasional man, like them in the old empire created after the Numenoreans collapsed and were driven from these hallowed lands. The problem was money. With no Umbari trading vessels coming and going to fiefs downriver, there was scarce passage at any price, never-mind groat-strapped witch-women._

_Getting the slave-girl to learn her craft was of the first moment. She was summoned to tea, politely._

_“Tell me child, what tidings of your charge on top of the tower?”_

_Niefahra knew the Mistress was always courteous, but she would get what she wanted. Niefahra also thought that reasonable. She had been shown great favor, eaten twice a day and knew her talents would pay for that. The lass arranged her hands in her lap and replied, “It is installed. Dierig suspects its use. The Eye instructed me to bide my time, learn the ways of the Order of Houloch.”_

_The sweet old Mistress smiled. It was a genuine preface to what would not be an easy remembrance, “You remind me of my daughter, child. Yes, yes, I had children; a son and a girl. I lost my husband in one of the pointless wars in the east. My poor boy was stabbed for a copper groat. Ghenille was an even sadder story. She did not have my gifts. Ghenni more than made-up with a pleasing smile and a soft, easy way.”_

_Blûh needed a moment, “You have that smile deep within you. I hope we can help you find it. Even as we do, a great storm gathers over all our heads. It is the way of these sorry lands, though I do not make apologies. You have suffered as much as any still above ground. I know you have been waiting to hear the reward and the price, so, here they are: You will learn the ways of your stone so we can speak to those of us scattered throughout the great conquest. Houlars were folk of the back rivers when we overcame the Duneishda centuries ago._

_“In turn, that will earn you my position when I am gone; which will not be all that long from now. Estah knows and agrees. She is a loyal servant and steward of our Order. She will aid you as she has aided me.”_

_The hoular took another sip of fresh Telandren; found from improving resources here in the Ghalibatu. Setting the cup down on the side-table beside her cushion, the Mistress brought the rod down, “Do not mistake this for a discussion, child. Certain truths are immutable. We will soon be in thrall to the power rising in the north. We must also consider that in the wars of men and orcs, our ladies suffer more by our own hands than by the northerlings. Our Order has been stripped to mere children time and again over the last age. You will eventually shepherd far more of us than my sorry efforts – but you must build it yourself!”_

_The woman took another sip and composed herself. That little demonstration had been planned, but it was necessary. Blûh looked into her new apprentice’s eyes and said simply, “Begin at once. Lhurza will teach. Her practical experience is vast. Hahniz will be your helper. Treat her kindly. The rest of us will gather our strength.”_

_Strength was a matter of money. In the relative peace of the last sixteen years, graft didn’t trickle as low as lowly houlars. Times were changing. Reaû grudgingly dipped into his strong-room for arms and beasts and the equipage of conflict. When that happens in corrupt countries, groats go missing at every level of official favor. The Order Houloch would participate._

_One fell craft unknown to Niefahla was influence. Herbs of the foothills, when cursed with secret incantations, made foolish men divulge secrets, do things thing might not ordinarily do, forget doing them later. Although it made the young lady uncomfortable, a few of the younger adepts practiced that art on men who woke satisfied but knew not why their purses were lighter than before pleasure._

_Putting that torture from her mind, she made her way up the north tower. Rising Chamberlain Dierig had a half-troop of sentries posted two floors below the tower-top. They were slovenly. Better men would have asked questions. They spent most of their time trudging up and down the stairs hauling food or heaving chamber pots out the window._

_No one was permitted to go to the top, although they did. They did have instructions to allow the young Novice access. She showed no expression as she was waved up the stairs, allowing one of the privates to push the new floor-hatch open to the waiting sun._

_Niefahra had rehearsed this. Investigating the stone might attract attention from the Eye. She was in league with the Eye, and whoever it represented, but it would not do to be seen skulking without cause. Placing both palms on the orb with faint pressure, she offered only the slightest trace of her presence. The stone took long in waking. At first she saw a new Duneishda, much like the old one but with a harsh, demanding expression showing both greed and fear._

_Then came the Eye. “What is it, child?”_

_“I am come for your instruction. My studies go well.”_

_“Good lass. Listen for my summons. You will know it when I am ready.”_

_“As you wish, Kel-Lord.”_

_When the stone lost light, Niefahra kept her hands flat with only the slightest touch. She reached out in mind to the old hoular, waiting for any hint of contact. Somehow, the adept felt a connection. As if remembering a chore, she said to herself, “I must return to prepare our meal.” Wiping her fingerprints with her apron she turned and stamped on the floor-hatch._

_“Oh yes, we felt you, understood you.” Lhurza’s nod confirmed Blûh’s experience. Of all the local houlars, Lhurza was the most gifted in witchcraft. It was not her habit to take from men in pleasure, but she did take, and not groats either. Army suppliers seemed particularly forgetful lately._

_Blûh continued, “Finances have improved. We shall shortly send some of our friends downstream on larger fishing boats. In a few weeks, visit your stone again and think to them … something safe like, ‘Best wishes to those who travel in service of proper masters’, eh?”_

_“Of course, Mistress.”_

_Xerish, quiet until now, had her part to play, “Closer to home, Dierig has a cleaning woman watching you, thought what she cleans is a mystery. You should give him a little something to retain favor with those proper masters further north. Better the devil you know.”_

_Estah often made things plainer, “In our financing effort we learned that a group of hard-men think to supplant Kel-Lord Reaû, possibly at the feast of Mauhön.” Seeing Niefahra draw a blank she added, “Supplant means to replace, in this case, violently. Reaû suspects plots at all times, particularly when he will be visible, but this is accurate.” The chief instigator is a Captain of infantry called Belariu who commands the pickets along the Jelu district’s north border._

_“Now, and this is important child; one does not overthrow one’s Lord with river-sentries. He must be in league with another who is closer to the capital. We do not know who. That isn’t our problem, either. In the next three days, make a point of speaking with Dierig. The source cannot be revealed. He will ask.”_

_Niefahra knew enough of local politics now to recognize the difference between the presumed will of Mordor and that of the unscrupulous men who enforced it here at the rivers’ joining. She also knew a bit more about dealing with her own sex. “My sisters, why would the Kel-Lord of Amrûn matter to the dark lord?”_

_It was Blûh’s turn, “Perceptive, my dear. In the long-view of the black god it seldom does. We come and go. In this instance, he needs stable rule here at the confluence because within two of our generations, great armies must be raised by all these warlords currently devastating their subjects with ceaseless border skirmishes. They will all meet here for the march north._

_“What matters to the Order Houloch is that the Lord of Amrûn needs to need us to further his rising star. This ambitious Belariu is unknown. His plot is almost certain to fail without our help. We still want credit for it.”_

_“I see, Mistress.” Showing the guile that would advance her own career, “Is there a hint I accidentally drop along the way?”_

_“Not this time, child.”_

_Niefahra sought Dierig the following day. She explained the tidings as instructed with a respectful bow and both were on their way before anyone noticed._

_This put Dierig in new waters. He was a whal, middle of the three levels of natural male sorcerers found in Harad. Dierig could not communicate directly with anyone in Mordor. The man had to pass information through a new traveler known only as Vanaharish who appeared from nowhere and left just as silently. Vanaharish was empo-ju, the old name for sorcerer before the laughable term ‘empo-votu’ was coined._

_For centuries, men like them had wound their ways across the fertile river valleys or into the desolation. They could cast spells. A few could throw fire. They could make men behave strangely, much like the houlars of the Order Houloch. Dierig had none of those skills but he was aware when an empo was nearby._

_Times were changing for men like them too. For all those centuries, Sauron was confined to the forests of wilderlings. He returned to his ruins inside the mountain circle of the Nûrnen thirty years ago. Weather could be seen over the peaks, clouds that never rained – a double vex to men of the grasslands._

_Dierig had been told by Vanaharish to prepare for the dark one’s wider kingship. Local disputes were commonplace and no concern to Sauron – except in the empo-ju’s last visit, he explained that their master needed this strategic crossroads to put their affairs in order. And that meant bringing the scabrous Hûk soldiery to heel. Dierig thought for a moment in his quarters, stared at the candle and asked for an audience with Kel-Lord Reaû. The advent of Sauron as master of Harad was to commence._

**____________-----------___________ **

_“Ah, Dierig, what is so important that it would not wait until tomorrow?”_

_The Assistant Chamberlain gazed conspicuously at a serving boy and answered his master, “A small thing. I am almost embarrassed to say, Highest.”_

_Reaû caught the drift and said blandly, “Well then, sit. I wanted to ask about seating for the feast.”_

_When the lad had collected the breakfast dishes Dierig leaned forward and spoke very softly, “It is the feast that brings me. Lips speak your life is in peril.”_

_“I am always in peril.”_

_“Belariu.”_

_Reaû glowered and stabbed his knife into the table. “You speak above yourself, houseman!”_

_The Dierig Kel-Lord Reaû thought he knew would have cringed. This one seemed quite calm before saying, “All apologies, Most High. Forgive me for exceeding my station. I will attend to the guest accommodations.”_

_“You do that.”_

_One feature of the Ghalibatu folk hoped not to see was a tsitsi warag chamber several levels below the ground floor. Rumored to hold between a pair and a half dozen of the fell wolves at any time, they needed to be fed regularly. Fresh dead were the usual diet, but occasional malefactors livened the keepers’ thankless labors._

_Security Captain Shorma’s inquiries led much further than anyone in the palace expected. The day before the feast of Mauhön, the top officer corps of two infantry units, one billeted right here in the capital, were invited to attend the Kel-Lord’s table. No one remembered them leaving._

_“How did you learn?”_

_“The houlars owed me a favor. I do not know how they knew, though it comes as no surprise.”_

_Reaû was not angry, but he would have answers, “Then you had better explain who and what you are.”_

_Assistant Chamberlain Dierig replied, “I am whal, Eyes for interests beyond the Ephel range. Your continued good rule is desired.”_

_It had to happen! All this seething and traffic and magic sparking like lightning under summer clouds. Yes, the bastard was back in Mordor! It was only a matter of time before these lands and every other foot of ground south of the mountain circle belonged to him whenever he thought to reclaim it. And that was now._

_In a strange way, Dierig was a blessing. If Sauron had someone else in mind for governance, Reaû might be shreds in his own warag-pit rather than betrayed Belariu. That didn’t make the Chamberlain indispensable – just a resource. It was plain he would add to his duties. Very well, he had the Kel-Lord’s ear._

_And yet, everyone who had studied the history of Sauronic wars knew that the bulk of his infantry were orcs – and trolls for the heavy lifting. No host of loathsome monsters accompanied the dark one’s skulking return to Barad Dûr. It would be at least another generation of men, probably two, before he could breed enough of the creatures to challenge the Ghondor. In that time they would need to be fed and armed and made soldiers._

_Dougsh! “Dierig, you are promoted while I consider whether to have you flayed. Move the houlars into the fortress.” He snickered, adding, “Nothing presumptuous. Leave Shorma out of this. Maintain appearances for now. You report only to me. Dismissed.”_

_Over the next few months, Niefahra visited her stone several times. It glowed, as always, but the Eye did not appear. One time she did see the stern Numenorean walking in an antechamber, unaware of her presence. Another brought the face of the old man in white. He spoke to her in the grating northern tongue, as if she was obviously his kind and should understand. Niefahra would not have answered in any case. He was not the Eye and therefore an annoyance, or worse._

_Each time, though, the lass lingered after visions faded and left a single palm on the surface. She called messages of encouragement and shared commitment to the great gods with women who had been dispatched downstream into the populous grain-lands of western Harad and the border territories of the vast Umbari Supreme Council._

_Those inquiries yielded strange fruit. Three months after the foiled coup, the Eye appeared again. It seemed somehow brighter, more penetrating. It demanded, “Why do you call?”_

_“Forgive me, Kel-Lord. I have not had instruction.”_

_“I have other cares. Once, each year, you will reach your mind to me, convey what you have seen in your order. From time to time, one of my servants may come to visit you or others in your city.”_

_“Of course, Kel-Lord. Please tell me though; what of the others?”_

_Niefahra meant the Numenorean and the old cove in white robes, but she didn’t have time to explain before the voice decreed, “There are no others! You can see only me in this device. No one can see you. You are mine alone. In that you will achieve greatness!”_

_The Eye faded rather than blinking, and was gone._

_“Well, child, you have been busy. It only wants you to contact it once a year?”_

_“So I was told, Mistress.”_

_“Hughmmmf. That’s as well. Lhurza has returned from Ancalimon. She heard you, plain as a fishwife shouting her daily catch. And what’s more, so did the woman you spoke with when you passed through. Both have returned and you will see them with the evening meal. Next we will see if they can talk back._

_As it happened; they could. One in four houlars known to the Order could hear speaking from the stone, almost all women of fire or air so not the healers of the market. Most of those could reply by concentrating on the pulse or pitch of Niefahra’s thoughts. The thread only lasted a few seconds, at first. Some of those women had almost no other witch-ken to any degree. This was a specialized skill._

_Blûh sat back in her now comfortable apartment in the chaotic west wing of the fortress. They were on the eighth floor, above the garbage chute. This side was more a rental block for peripheral governmental servants than the more fashionable quarters near the palace. She knew, deep down, that this was a blessing if used correctly – and that nothing would save them or Harad if the dark ones to the north decided to extinguish it from memory._

_A trickier task was dealing with the Hûk satrapies up both rivers. The Chelkar warlords were closer to Mordor; so, probably, getting visits by the terrifying spirit lords. There had been no sign of Sauron himself – possibly because there was no sign to be seen. He was assumed to have an ethereal presence but not a body to match the bodies of men he would rule._

_And what of the missing tool. A ring? A legend. A myth. A story to keep children behaved. The tale was complete and had been handed down for three thousand years. People in other lands told it the same as here so whether true or not, it was pervasive. The ring was cut from Sauron’s hand by a Prince of Ghondor. He lost it and it remains lost. A talisman that powerful, imbued with sorcery, would have an agenda. They must watch for it._

_That probably mattered little. It was rumored lost far to the north where the Duneishda issued-forth, so nothing to do with forsaken Harad. Sauron would make himself lord if he had the ability. If not, someone just as grasping would._

_The third and most perplexing issue was how to use the extraordinary girl and her stone to the benefit of the Order Houloch. War was coming. Another war. Umbar, mighty Umbar, should have been the dominant dark ally. After the Ghondor burned their fleet to the spines, the dark lord’s eyes would look to Amrûn and the low pass into his southern border. He would need to converse with his old subjects and no longer had Umbar ships for long leagues. He must persuade them. That would involve traversing the vast, contentious realms below the northerling stronghold._

_She decided to create a network of houlars, sworn to the Order Houloch with oaths that would cripple them if betrayed. Ancalimon was the obvious first location. The capable Hezithurna of that Umbar fief already showed signs of great witchcraft. She also knew of their like further downstream on the south bank of the Harnen. In time, they would reach Umbar itself and establish positions above the corsair enclaves on the north bank near the port of Gobel Mírlond._

_The difficulty was that whoever the child saw in that black rock might know every nuance of transmission. She said she saw a Duneishda and an old hermit at different times so one could not assume anything was truly secret. Strangely, the Eye said he alone was master of conversation. Did he not know about the others? Who knew what, and how much, must be divined very tactfully._

_The witches of Amrûn were successful in parting money and favors from contributors in ways that no one noticed or complained. It was enough to send new deputations of ladies, accompanied by former soldiers, downstream to principal trading ports of the lower Harnen. The eastern barbarians would have to wait. Once there, Niefahra would send a benign message both to see if they could sense it and discover if like women, or men, could as well. Ladies of the Order would try to return her call using the techniques they practiced in the Ghalibatu._

_Results were encouraging. Most cities had a healing-woman who felt the pulse to visit the yarn mall, even if she didn’t know why. Adherents of the Order Houloch kept an eye on likely candidates. Between the ten and twelve bells they watched to see if future sisters suddenly turned east in confusion. When approached, with a modest gratuity for their cooperation, some of them were quite interested in furthering their craft._

_These tidings returned to Amrûn about a year after the girl-witch first appeared. Blûh sat with her inner council which now included Niefahra and Hezithurna of Ancalimon to discuss choices. She began deliberately, as always, “Thank you and our sisters for this news. While you were away, Hûk Tegru of Oud Ilaz consolidated the fork in the river to Kupshe. We do not know if he is in the service of Mordor. If not, he will be soon or his replacement will. News up the Harnen is scant, as always.”_

_She turned to Estah for a point of clarification, “Dear, it is the year 832 of the Second Harnen Rising. What year is in the Duneishda calendar?”_

_“This is their year 2985, Mistress. The next begins at the winter solstice. The Circle of Astrologers has noted no importunate placements in the heavens.”_

_Blûh was practical, “Grain shipments north are increasing, but not at the levels of orc legions. I think a generation of men, perhaps half again longer, before armies of men can be mustered to take any war to the Ghondor. That gives us time.”_


	28. Ancalimon Looks East

**_Chapter 28_ **

**_Ancalimon Looks East_ **

Now; how should agents of Gondor approach the walled city of Gobel Ancalimon? The Elf asked for a few days to investigate quietly.

Like all soldiers, they looked at defenses first. The city was open on the river because there had never been enough wood upstream to attack from the water. There were new ballista emplacements being installed here along the barbarian side of the enclosure that could pivot for either waterborne or land-based enemies. The walls were thick too, built for artillery. This time, half the marines and half the crew alternated seeing the sights. Ostensibly, they were traders in port for the pecan season. Since everyone but these fools knew that was three weeks off, they made a show of loitering and spending precious coppers for better food than hard biscuits. 

One of the sightseers was a tall blonde fellow dressed in poor cloth who sketched some of the astonishing parapets and crenels lining the outer walls. The youngster kept asking where he might find his sainted aunt who lived in a large brown house with other spinsters. That failed miserably until he stumbled on just such a dwelling. Then he climbed a nearby temple bell-tower to enjoy his lunch. Nobody came. Nobody went. Wrong house. He was about to climb down when he felt it. It was a yellow house about a quarter-mile away. He would have missed it but for being in the tower. Setting his bearings, he made his way back to the ship. 

At dawn, the Elf and crewman Pearsall wandered haltingly, as drunken sailors do, to the yellow house. All the crew spoke perfect Haradric and with a life on the sunny bay, Pearsall was brown as the pecans they were waiting to buy. The two ambled by and made their way to a bell-tower with Pearsall staying at the base watching the world go by and Nag Kath slipping up-top.

At the usual time, there was the familiar pulse towards the east. After fine-tuning his senses for the faint signal, he felt a second transmission from the yellow house and all was still.

_____________-------______________

Telgrin put matters in focus; “East?”

“I must go. That is more than you sailors of Mírlond bargained for. I will not hold you to further peril.”

Capt’n Fortdale said in his quarterdeck voice, “Clearly the Lord of the White Tower doesn’t know the mettle of his southern subjects. As he is unfamiliar with our ways, we will not take offense at his insult.”

“I had to say it.”

Capt’n said gravely, “Me too. Now that we have polished our cods, we aren’t going to make a dent in the mighty Ghalibatu with a dozen men, stout though they are.”

This was Telgrin’s patch, “We present our credentials to the Shûsan Imbraer. We tell him as closely as we can what is going on and expect some of his best men to travel with us. It costs us nothing. We would need to share what we learn anyway so it is time for these Umbari princelings to start earning their keep.”

Until now, the crew of the Bresto dressed as river-dogs and largely stayed on ship or frequented the kinds of places anyone observing from shore would expect. The next appearance need a sense of occasion so they cast off at high night and floated downstream before sailing back to the government dock a quarter-mile west, this time flying the pennant of the House of Telcontar. 

With this arrival; a proper Gondoran emissary and his tall, unbraided aide emerged from below decks and had a freshly scrubbed Ro-Jardïn announce to the wharf-master that high-lords of the Dúnedain had arrived with letters of reference from their government and that of neighboring Shûsan Moran, son of Mortha.

As a rule, the wharf-master did nothing quickly but he heeled-and-toed his way to a little kiosk and a lad tore up the hill after a few words. The grandees waited below decks, a bilge – not that they were going to let the fancy of Ancalimon know that – and would reappear when someone of sufficient rank came representing the Shûsan. 

That took nearly an hour but an officer in a clean uniform returned with the lad. He summoned the wharf-master and walked up to the Bresto. Ro-Jardïn bowed appropriately and collected the ambassadors, glad to get out of the stifling hold. With authority, and a hint of surprise, the soldier made a satisfactory bow of his own and said in Haradric, “Welcome to the state of Ancalimon, best of sirs. I am Captain Ohpeil. May I ask the nature of your visit?”

Telgrin laid-it-on with some authority of his own, “We represent the King of Gondor hoping to confer with your Lord Imbraer. I am Lord Telgrin …” with less gravity, “ … this is Solvanth, my aide.” Solvanth managed another bow.

Ohpeil had enough clout to state, “Then, sirs, if you will accompany me, we shall make for the palace where the Shûsan will be made aware of your presence. It is some distance. Shall I have a cart brought?”

“After the ship I prefer to stretch my legs. My servants can carry such garments as we might need.” He turned to the ship with a nod. Sarn’t Timmons and Ro-Jardïn, both in better than usual clothes hastily purchased this morning, grabbed a trunk and several smaller cases for the winding path up what qualified as a hill along the River Harnen. The lad was sent ahead at a run to notify whoever dealt with Duneishda. 

Ohpeil seemed to believe the case as presented and added, “If you will give me the documents for My Lord, I will deliver them to the correct persons.”

Telgrin handed him two packets, sealed over the finest velum.

The Captain didn’t see the need to say much as they trooped towards a granite fortress towards the west side of the oblong city. Their luggage didn’t actually have much inside but the marines made it look like they were straining nobly. Both ambassadors wore their ceremonial swords but those were the only weapons. All four would certainly be searched before getting a sniff of Imbraer. 

At the first interior gate a hand-signal had a pair of door-wardens fall-in with the group. It took another gate until the Captain met someone from the palace who bowed and introduced himself as Under-Chamberlain Prehun. The Captain handed him the documents and took his leave as Prehun led them up the steps to the main building. 

Elements were similar to the Numenorean themes on the way but there was a strong Haradric influence in construction and art. Neither diplomat knew as much about this world as they thought. As usual, the tall aide looked at every tile in the floor, seeing nothing that looked filled and replaced. 

The night before, the crew and officers had a conference amidships. There were two objectives; one was to learn about the far-speaking sorceress’ without alerting the local officials they might be fomenting trouble upstream. The second was to outfit an expedition to the heart of the beast. That would require the cooperation of the Shûsan with some of his best operatives. They would have their own agenda – a fair exchange.

Prehun gave a running tour of the palace wing in fair Westron. That was unusual. This deep in the interior; the common-tongue wasn’t so common. He had what they later learned were household staff chevrons on his sleeve but the livery didn’t fit his soldierly frame. Telgrin surmised it was ‘borrowed’ from a genuine servant on short-order to get this man closer to the unexpected guests.

The quiet-man chamberlain showed the four to a rather sumptuous suite with two private rooms, a main salon and a few closets for discreet needs. Prehun noted the amenities and told them he would inform the Shûsan’s staff with his next utterance. 

When the door clicked Nag Kath made a show of instructing the servants where things should go, starting with Lord Telgrin’s trunk. Elf eyes scanned every surface of the larger bedroom as Sarn’t Timmons laid-out the case contents. Then he had Ro-Jardïn do the same in his smaller room. Gentlemen situated, he walked around the main salon carefully, admiring the art and sculpture. Telgrin had been doing the same, appreciating a fine bronze of an eastern Maia.

The four then met towards one side of the main room and the Elf said softly, “Eye holes in the mural by the door, possibly in the ceiling across the window. A hearing tube port is behind that heurzis tapestry near the privy.”

They were there to inform so Telgrin, who had no trouble sounding lordly, announced, “Well, this is a grand place indeed. Solvanth, be sure to thank our hosts. We might have a wait … oh, see if they are holding any of their famed horse-races while we are here! I hear they are a sight to behold.”

“Yes, sir. I shall inquire at my first opportunity.”

“Good. When do you suppose we eat?”

In most of Middle-earth, certainly in the southern realms, servants do not have their own quarters. They sleep in corners, closets or under staircases on the floor. The marines slowly stashed their bedrolls in a wardrobe after casual glances for spying holes. There didn’t seem to be a secret door. Elf ears would notice that in the quiet of the night.

Eating was soon. Haradrim don’t eat lunch but a light meal of meats, fruits, vegetables and cheese with cold tea was brought within the hour. The bearers smiled but said nothing. In keeping with local customs, the diplomats and servants ate separately.

After another hour, Chamberlain Prehun knocked and was admitted. A younger man was alongside and was introduced as Nothok who would be on call for the esteemed northerlings’ needs. Prehun explained their evening meal could be brought here or they were welcome to join several other guests in the visitors’ wing for company. Telgrin heartily said they would like to meet fellow travelers and Nothok would return at their equivalent of the five-bell.


	29. Wind Speakers

**_Chapter 29_ **

****

**_Wind Speakers_ **

****

_The Order Houloch became important. Apartments were appropriated alongside their eighth-level quarters. It was still considerably above street-level and, more importantly, within the walls against civil unrest._

_Trudging to the top of the north tower was not required often. The Eye must have business in his own borders or, perhaps, further north. It may also be that cooperation was simply expected here in former dark lands. He would summon all armies to him when needed. The far-speaking Order conveyed demands for preparedness. There was also the unstated, but believed, contention that the dark lord sought a tool of great magic lost in northern rivers – untold leagues from hot Amrûn._

_The houlars now had far-speakers in the major cities of empire; two in the Umbar capital, one each in Ramlond, Gobel Mírlond and a very powerful young woman in Ancalimon. Hezithurna remained here as a senior counselor. Perhaps the blood of that city was stronger. All those women were insinuated in the ruling houses with junior adepts and servants._

_That created uneasy alliances. Most realms were run by a single warlord who gained his position through strength and violence. Having a female witch imposed on them grated. The Shusan of Ramlond killed his Houloch ambassador and met the same fate when trolls burst through his palace floor slaying everyone they could catch. The man’s distant cousin was understandably more gracious. Mysterious Umbar was still ruled by a council whose members kept mostly out-of-sight. Their servants enforced obedience._

_The Order’s daily life was less threatening than the ruling lords. Still, they had not really been called to service. Through Niefahra, houlars advised their hosts about food and armaments needed. Rulers maintained their border guards. After the Hûk wars, there was a better understanding that non-compliance was worse than the possible reward of taking new territory. Seething kings did not like each other any better, but it was more than a matter of having the larger army._

_The lust for local conquest was salved, in part, with a concerted effort to exhort subjects by dangling the wealth and women of contemptuous northerlings in front of their noses. Someday, someday soon, great hosts from southern lands would help themselves to tantalizing riches in the homes of the Duneishda! It was coming! People must align their greed and fury with the rising power of Mordor._

_Over the years, women were brought into service. Some came here for training while others remained where they were found. Modest but secure quarters were purchased, generally taller buildings by Haradric measure, with access to the roof. The pattern was for two or three houlars skilled in far-speaking, several adepts and paid servants of both sexes to run the household and keep nosy neighbors from intruding. Women must remain chaste or leave. Female servants could be married. Men, well, they were men but needed to keep their outside activities from interfering._

_Niefahra did not age more than a month for each year. The Eye’s quickening had blessed her with great, long life. The white hair belied her soft, young face. She never did find her inner ‘smile’ as Blûh wished._

_Blûh did age. Nineteen years after the young adept arrived at their door, she felt she needed to pass the reins. Unlike every other society in the lands of Sauron, the Order Houloch was not riven with jealousy. They were sisters. By some strange twist of blood, witchcraft was almost never bestowed on attractive females, which made Niefahra such an exception. They appreciated their talents gave them advantages they would not have earned with alluring faces. No one tossed them in the street for younger bedmates._

_Fractious tyrants along the river-course had not seen the wisdom of allying under the dark lord’s banner. Kel-Lord Reaû had been a capable administrator but he could only muster enough armies to secure his own borders. Any additional men were now growing and shipping grain north to feed, it was said, the hungry mouths of orcs and trolls. Reaû was now sixty and slowing as well. Three of his sons were vying for his position. One was vicious and smart, one simply vicious and the third seemed somewhat capable._

_That spring, they had visitors. Two riders in black rode unescorted down the Chelkar Highway. Arriving at night, they were challenged at the Ghalibatu west gate. One hissed loudly, “Open now, in the name of great Sauron!”_

_Corporal Zonol was on the verge of shouting where the arrogant rider could shove it but something made him demand, “State your business!”_

_A bright flash of green fire was answer enough for him to yell, “Open the gate, and watch for anyone behind them.”_

_The two figures walked their horses through rapidly opened inner doors unerringly towards the main palace entrance. Seldom used gongs were rung so the Kel-Lord’s staff knew what was in the offing. Chamberlains, officers and sentries flew down the steps, including Dierig._

_One of the riders, still in the saddle hissed, “We called for armies. Why are they not raised!”_

_Colonel Bae, a man of some courage, stated, “You will need to ask our Lord, sir.”_

_“Bring him.”_

_“He hastens down even now, Dark King.”_

_Reaû arrived a bit later with his three oldest sons and bowed before the Nazgûl. He put aside a limp on aging knees and pronounced, “An auspicious day, My Lords.”_

_“We shall see. You were instructed to raise fifteen thousand. There are only eight.”_

_“The eastern Hûks ignore your rightful demands.”_

_The second Ring-wraith accused, “That is not for you to allow, old man.”_

_This was going badly. There had been no advance word that Nazgûl were coming to enforce Mordor’s vague ambitions. The first fallen King asked, “Who are these officers?”_

_“Three of my sons, high sir.”_

_The wraith turned to them and spat, “The first of you to slay your father takes rule of this land.”_

_They all must have thought that at one point or another but Hrath, vicious but not very smart, ran his sword through his da’s ribs before the Nazgûl’s hiss finished echoing through the courtyard._

_Content they had a more vigorous leader, the shorter of the wraiths said, “We told the northern Hûk the same. You will bring the east into service. By next September you will march fifteen thousand armed foot-soldiers into Mordor. Bring your own food!”_

_Hrath prepared to invade the east Harnen. A day later, his older brother was murdered. Younger, capable brother Manto walked away from the Nazgûl summons without ever returning to his quarters knowing if he did, he would never leave them._

_Hrath had schooled himself in palace intrigues but had never taken command of a field army. He stripped the city buildings of wood for enough barges for a force of four thousand to cross the Chelkar and invest Hûk Balabath’s holdings on that bank. Balabath was the nearest of five regional Hûks stretched from the confluence to somewhere in Khand; blasphemous and forsaken._

_Making enough barges to float four thousand men across a big river fast enough to establish a beachhead takes time; especially when one is not the sharpest tool in the shed. Heads rolled with predictable delays. It was nearly June when they were ready to float/sail/row across. They came as no surprise either._

_Balabath moved his headquarters twenty miles inland taking almost every grain of food with him. Secret birds on the riverbank whispered the impatient Kel-Lord was only provisioned for a quick battle, preferring to leave stores in the granaries for the trek north._

_Arriving corps found tainted wells, tainted storehouses and sharp little stakes on the paths coated in dougsh. The new Kel-Lord should have told the Nazgûl to come here themselves. Hrath’s first wave set the perimeter and waited until the second flotilla arrived before marching east after Balabath. Balabath accommodated by continuing to back away or lobbing ballistae from convenient overlooks. The Hûk also had a few horses that could spy on the Amrûn host and report back. Neither side had duu crows but Balabath always had packs of warags._

_While Hrath’s host was drinking poisoned water, third son Manto reappeared in Amrûn and claimed lordship. The remaining forces, not the best but still soldiers, saw wisdom in proclaiming him rightful heir and staying on their side of the poxed river. Balabath loyalists on the east bank accidentally set fire to a number of Hrath’s barges. As it happened, Hrath ran out of food twenty leagues east of the Chelkar and returned to the river to order some of his stinting reserves crossed for extended conflict. It was then his weary soldiers learned that they would only be welcomed home if they brought the head of Hrath with them. They did, leaving the advance troops on the front to fend for themselves. That went predictably. About a thousand straggled back, petitioned to serve new Kel-Lord Manto and were ferried to their loving families._

_That put Manto no closer to fulfilling the Ring-wraiths demands. Whoever was Lord of Amrûn needed to march fifteen thousand soldiers up the Kupshe pass in two months. The wraiths did not leave a forwarding address._

_Dierig called in a favor._

_“That is the situation, as near as I can tell. We need to tell the dark ones there has been a change in lordship.”_

_Blûh sipped her ever-present Telandren and considered her guest. The man continued, “We cannot know if their wrath will be directed at those already dead for their failure or …” he paused for effect, “… their homeland. Either way, it is time for your little intrigues to manifest. I need the Speaker to explain this to the Dark Tower – so it doesn’t come as an unpleasant surprise. Am I clear?”_

_The Mistress set her cup by her knee and thought carefully before answering, “Yes, yes quite. Expect Niefahra before day’s end.”_

_“Lass, it is time. You have learned our Order well. I will retire, to serve as an advisor, and you will become Mistress of Houloch. Your next task will be the same as the first. Speak with Dierig. He needs you to convey to the Eye that their chosen Kel-Lord’s head stares over the city on a pike while crows peck his eyes. Now, forever-young, we need you to keep Sauron from sending his own host down here to scourge our home of disobedience. Kiss me and set about your charge, Mistress of Houloch.”_

_Niefahra gave Blûh a kiss on her cheek and impassively walked to the twelfth. Dierig, who had not seen his Empo in years, escorted her past sentries up to the thirteenth. It was time for the Mistress to meet the Kel-Lord._

_Manto sat in his father’s former chair, first looking at Dierig and then unable to look at anyone else but the stunning hoular with the blaze of silver hair. Both of them bowed to the presence and waited._

_The young Lord rose and slowly circled around his two guests as if their backs would tell more than the front. Then he sauntered to his small table and motioned them to join him._

_“So, we finally have need to speak to the black land. Girl, are you aware of the situation?” She nodded. “I do not know what good it will do, but if the Lord of Mordor thinks this neglected part of his kingdom has purpose, we need favor. You and yours will help us.”_

_There was finality in his last sentence. Amrûn had a long, bloody history of settling unhelpful houlars. Father Reaû purposely left them alone since he did not want to attract powers from the north. Content that the Umbari were neutralized to the west and that the Hûks were poor swimmers, he kept to his patch. Manto would not have that grace. Ring-wraiths came with demands. He would do as they said. He needed time._

_The stone was still unusually long. Niefahra initially saw the old man in white, hold his chin in his hand as he studied the image. He looked no older and he was old twenty years before. The Eye pushed him to the side and burned at its servant. “It is early, child. This is to do with the disaster in the east, yes?”_

_“It is Kel-Lord. The appointed commander was defeated along with half of his army. The Harnen Hûks remain beyond your wisdom.”_

_Both Manto and Dierig stood by, the first time she had let any but other houlars join her for the summoning. The Eye knew that and spoke aloud, “You are reprieved … for now. My servants will convince the eastern subjects of their destiny.” The Eye seemed to narrow, “The men may go.”_

_They heard that and trooped down the stairs, leaving the hatch open. Niefahra watched them and turned her gaze back to the Great Eye. It said, “I have been watching you, little one. You speak to your followers and they can call to you with this stone to my glory. I said you would be brought to larger errands. From now on, your Order will be my mouth to the far reaches of my domain.”_

_Ring-wraiths were dispatched far and wide to make it plain to former allies that they were in service again. Men were reminded of forgotten beliefs. Resources were assessed. Examples were made. Sauron instructed Niefahra what to tell her houlars and they were to tell the rulers of his realm. The Nazgûl made it plain that the witches’ word was His._

_And so began the rearming of Mordor. It was the year 857 in Harad, 3004 in coarse Ghondoran. It was time to prepare the host that would make all of Middle-earth the Dark Lord’s realm. Breeders of the huge Oliphaunts were told to raise war-beasts that would take the coastal road to Ithilioch. Ships must be built in Umbar and the Ethir Harnen to control the Great River above._

_What western men could not know was that Sauron; terrible and unclean, was poorly attended by fell servants. In ages past he had dark Dwarves, lesser Maiar, vampires and an assortment of magical creatures bent on his will. Almost the entire population of Numenor worshiped him. In this day and age he had supplies of wolves and orcs in northern realms but precious few in Harad. In his long absence here, men of terrible purpose lived as they had under his dominion but made war to further their own aims._

_Now he had these curious women who could speak to one another over great distances. This was not conversation. Instructions from the north tower might be specific but the reply was quite simple. They had no influence in legendary Khand or with the barbarians of the Rhûn Sea. Orcs of the vast northern wastes were also in thrall, but no one here had any idea how one spoke with them._

_Over the years, armies were trained, provisioned, taught that obedience was absolute. Forays were organized to harass eastern Ghondor and their horse allies above. Sleek attack ships were fashioned to consolidate Sauronic control over the western Anduin. Ever increasing amounts of grain and dried, fatty meats were transported to the pass at Kupshe. Salted fish too. Only enough food was left in the vassal states to feed the population with no reserves. Every few years famines caused stocks to be restricted to soldiers, essential personnel and male children._

_As the hub of activity, Amrûn fared somewhat better than the other black lands. They had usually grown enough food, but also had access to food-taxes making their way up the Chelkar. Curiously, the Order Houloch stayed in their eighth-floor enclave, although it was greatly expanded with increased influence._

_Niefahra barely seemed to age. Blûh’s aches and pains were getting worse. She called to her protégé one afternoon when a winter chill gripped the bare walls of the Ghalibatu. “Thank you for coming, child. You are not a child but yet you are.” The old woman lost her train of thought. Niefahra waited patiently._

_Blûh blinked and came back to the moment with presence, “We are coming to the Dagor. What is the year?”_

_“It is nearing the end of 869, My Mistress.”_

_“Oh how nice it is that you remember the old days! I hope I have not interfered overmuch. The Dark Lord makes the final call for armies. You have told our ladies. It is the same over all the east. They tramp by in their noisy thousands. Soon our Kel-Lord leads his own armies into Harondor in support of the great beasts and corsairs. It would be something to see!_

_I do not know our role, but something must end for the Order Houloch. Remember your sisters, child. Remember them well. I regret that you never found your smile. There are a great many things I regret. There were good things too.” She lost her focus again. Niefahra waited. “Yes. Care for them. I will not see you again, little one. Were our terrible gods capable of it, I would ask them to bless you.”_

_They lost her a week later. Word went out far and wide that the forms should be observed in reverence. Niefahra’s third mother was gone._


	30. Unofficial Portfolio

Chapter 30

Unofficial Portfolio

They were in. Neither Gondoran asked about meeting the Shûsan. They were here unannounced and it was up to the Lord if and when he deigned to acknowledge them. A week seemed reasonable and the fare was tasty.

Nathok, whose uniform fit, claimed them for a walk not fifty paces from their rooms. This was a meeting hall with a long table that could seat twenty easily. Eight men in the garb of successful river-traders already knew each other or made friends quickly. Telgrin and Solvanth were about to enter when another four men fell-in behind them. Two were also merchants and two were definitely soldiers. The docent waved them to sit where they liked and the two Gondorans split-up to hear as much conversation as their four ears could absorb.

Telgrin would take the soldiers’ section of the table. He looked like a soldier and those folk might share more than with the pretty emissary. Attendants started with fruits and a gureeq wine that was several steps above Nag Kath’s rustic experience. Like other Southron liquors, it didn’t have much alcohol, but this tasted good enough to drink willingly.

Telgrin didn’t know if this was a local custom or not but the northerlings might be forgiven when he raised his cup and said, “Sirs, a toast to our host; Imbraer, Shûsan of Ancalimon.”

Tradition or not, the men raised their own beverages with versions of ‘hear, hear’ before resuming conversations. The soldiers said almost nothing. Nag Kath played his familiar role of respectful, circumspect, not terribly bright young spark. Amid talk of shipping and pecans and docking fees, he asked a gregarious trader in halting Haradric, “Tell me, best of sirs, will there be any of the famed horse-races in the next few weeks?”

“Oh, aye … aye, indeed! The naming day of Jeshier, may his memory be blessed, is but four days hence. My fellows and I are here, in part, to cheer on our own Born of Blaze in the long derby!”

The young Duneishda was cheered, “Oh, I hope our duties permit attend to us.”

Telgrin had an ear cocked to his aide and followed with, “Grand! See if you can arrange good tickets, young man.”

Solvanth nodded with a smile that implied the Lord’s will would be served. That would have been enough to get the process rolling but no, it became the subject for all! Telgrin had already gathered that the soldiers were officers visiting from Ramlond – one reason they weren’t billeted with local troops. These were nicer quarters and not close to soldiers’ gossip. They caught the conversation fifteen feet away and paid close attention.

One merchant lived here and was joining customers from the north bank. He had already slurped his share of the wine and drawled, “So, you have a horse from the river-mouth you hope will not shame you in the final race?!”

A well-dressed Southron took up the gauntlet, “Both races! True runners! You know nothing of Ramlond bloodlines for such an ill-informed observation.”

“I know they make excellent cart-horses.”

A Mr. Du, of the high gaming commission of Ramlond, was here in that capacity since the two neighboring principalities had sizeable contingents at each others’ festivities. He spoke as a true believer in his mission, “We have the fastest carts, esteemed sir.”

Another local piped-up, “Perhaps for the short-course. We will see about the League-run!”

The senior Ramlond officer had heard enough, “Then we will enjoy taking your money at the Naming Games. Rest assured it will be spent wisely!”

In some places those were fighting words but not in the Shûsan’s guest wing. These fellows seemed to take it all in stride discussing some of the steeds who had been training for one of the three races on the second of three Gaming days. There were three such holidays in the year. This one was Jeshier’s, may he be blessed. Another was for Shûsan Voldor, may he rest in peace. Lastly was the reigning Shûsan’s Naming Day which floated according to who held the miter. That was some months off. Games also had competitions among men with wrestling, distance running, sprints, lifting or throwing weights and some sort of gymnastics. The third-day featured a pennant-tossing exhibition where young blades could impress ladies-fair. Maidens of sixteen had a structured and well-chaperoned display dance for much the same reason.

Telgrin could hold his liquor and Solvanth could out-drink any four of them, but when they had established they were right-proper guests, the diplomats were about to make for their quarters when Mr. Du exclaimed, “Best of sirs, if it doesn’t interfere with your responsibilities, I hope both of you have a chance to enjoy the celebration.”

Telgrin spoke for both, “Your hospitality is like cool water in summer. We certainly hope to meet you again.”

The next day nothing happened. Meals were taken in. Sarn’t showed Ro-Jardïn, as hapless at cards as Nag Kath, the finer points of Intur dukks.

Across the palace, Shûsan Imbraer gathered his quiet-men, top army staff and a couple fellows who made things happen. Chief of Security Kaligosto began, “Sire, their documents are quite genuine. Your esteemed brother-Lord Moran has vouched for them. It seems they are pursuing inquiries for the King of the Ghondor about disturbances upriver.”

He nodded to Prehun who added, “I have learned little from their commerce. They talked about their trip and your Excellency’s accommodations but nothing of their purpose. The ambassador is a soldierly man who speaks our tongue well. This aide is a young fellow, one of the Dol Amroth dainties, who respects the proper forms. They shared gureeq wine with Mr. Du.”

Imbraer leaned back in his chair and looked at eyes around the table. He was a lordly man of fit middle-age with one wife, two concubines, three sons and assorted daughters. Unlike almost every other family of stature in the realm, they got along fairly well or, at least, respected the privileges received. Speaking gravely, “Well, I suppose it had to happen. This festering mire to the east has finally attracted the attention of the northerlings. How did they get here?”

Prehun took that one, “A modest Duneishda river ship, crewed by men who have swung a sword. They are well trained and behaving themselves.” He added, “It would stand-out like a ghakshu in Amrûn, should they consider further inquiries.”

“What word from our esteemed council in Umbar?”

That was a loaded question. Umbar certainly had spies here, probably one or two waiting outside the door. But they had not been eager to support Ancalimon’s defenses – encourage; yes, but not men and ships. Ancalimon was the last bastion of civilization extending east before reaching barbarous Harad. That the Umbari were Haradrim five centuries before hardly signified now. They adopted the Numenorean attitudes and spent most of their time concentrating on sea and river-mouth trade. Inland fiefs could attend to themselves.

That, of course, could not be shared with the visiting Duneishda, although they certainly suspected or they wouldn’t be here. Ghondor’s trouble was the north bank of the Harnen. That was Umbari too except in name, but for the little outpost on the inlet. In Imbraer’s view they were welcome to it for the benefit of trade.

The Shûsan looked to General Manadonic and asked, “What tidings of our eastern defenses?”

The new ballista stations are in place and the walls bolstered. Men train now for both land and river assaults.” Breaking his objective answer, the seasoned man-of-war added, “I do wish you would prepare vessels to sail downstream if the barbarians take Amrûn, Sire.”

Imbraer smiled at his loyal friend, “Perhaps when we know more.”

They already knew quite a bit more than the Ghondor. Sakûn had consolidated most of the south bank east of Amrûn. That was the better land on the Harnen. But to reach the Ghalibatu, he either had to cross that river upstream and then cross the Chelkar or face much higher flows for a single crossing after the two great rivers met. The Hûks were not sailors and did not have much wood for barges.

Tulbar was another matter. His fanatics were largely on the eastern side of the Chelkar, sloppily stationed at their recent conquest of Oud Ilaz. They could march down to invest the ruins of old Amrûn on the east bank but to reach the capital they had to cross the treacherous Chelkar as well.

The greatest of wild-cards was Kel-Lord Ongaruth of Central Harad. He barely had the army to match one Hûk but not both. And the barbarians were now seasoned campaigners compared to border-sentries of the Ghalibatu. Ongaruth did have some boats, mostly haulers, but they did float. And they always were good with ballistae.

Imbraer looked at the ceiling for answers. Finding none he said, “Have the others come in.”

Six more men and, surprisingly, a woman filed in and bowed before taking their seats. Imbraer gazed around the room. Unusually, he held a minority position. Usually his was the majority opinion – because it was his. Sentiment on this, his privy council, was that the Numenoreans should be wined, dined and sent packing downriver with tidings that all was well. They should certainly not be dispatched east to bleeding Ghalibatu! There would be no pretending the northerlings hadn’t been here just to restock their stores.

The woman Naranthä, widow of esteemed Counselor Dhuman, summed it up neatly, “Sire, we cannot benefit by treating with Duneishda lordlings seeking to curry the Elessar’s favor in lands unknown to them. They are sure to poke a finger in the wrong eye and we will be thought the instigators. Let them enjoy Jeshier’s Games with our compliments.”

Kagilosto agreed, “Our best hope is a stalemate when each Southron is on their own side of a river. Having meddling Duneishda nosing-about might make whoever has the strongest hand feel the need to strike.”

The council leaned that direction. Not all were inclined to heartily support that view until they heard the Shûsan’s thoughts. He simply said, I will invite them to my box for the races. Perhaps their motives will become clearer.”

After another day of lounging in their quarters, Ro-Jardïn had learned more than he needed about the convoluted suites and place-cards of a dukks deck. The dragon cards and the infantry suite, in particular, were so complicated! Both could take the pot but both had their weaknesses if opponents had ranking members in either the cavalry or demon suites. Vastly unfair; it was!

There hadn’t been any more group dinners either. About that time, Nathok arrived with bearers carrying the food and taking the soil pots. He said in his native tongue, “Best of sirs, the rightful Shûsan, long may he be blessed, would like you to attend him at tomorrow’s races. I will return for you after you break your fast.” He looked at their garments and added, “What you are wearing will be fine, perhaps with hats against bright sun.”

The emissaries thanked him and forked into the meal.

___________----------___________

Nathok was back at about the ten-bell to collect the Ghondorans. He came without guards, although pairs of them eyed the pasty northerlings in major hallways. Nathok walked briskly through a different part of the palace, architecture and art growing ever finer as they went. About ten minutes into the journey, the impossibly tall junior-man stopped dead in his tracks. Nathok missed his initial expression but caught the recovery as the smooth face showed wonder at the exquisite mosaic on the floor of the crossing. Sensing his cue, Telgrin asked, “Tell me, Nathok, these halls must be ancient indeed?”

“Oh yes, best of sirs. The Shûsan’s quarters are just down that corridor and we approach the offices of the palace. I am bringing you this way because his Excellency has his own paths to reach the city.”

Yes; in all their splendor! Granzth for patience, Fïlsh for endurance, Fûl for strength. Unwarded, upside-down, waiting, a weapon never bared. The superb craftsmanship would be inspiring if he didn’t know what it meant. Hopefully whatever was down there died stillborn with the Witch-stone.

Nathok was told the young man didn’t speak much Haradric. Nathok didn’t speak any of their tongue so he told the older man in his, “That dates to thousands of years before, in the days of the dark ones.”

Telgrin gave that to the gob-smacked attaché. Nathok continued, “There are those in the city who understand these markings. Sometimes they are granted leave to come study it and another in the concubine suite.”

Solvanth asked his superior to ask the escort, “In such a long time, these rooms must have served many purposes.”

“Indeed, best of sirs. Shûsan Penjuris had a new personal wing grafted onto the old perhaps two-hundred years before the great war.”

The attaché asked something else which Telgrin interpreted to, “The concubines must enjoy such artistry.”

Too clever to be caught talking out-of-school, Nathok answered smoothly, “I cannot speak to the ladies quarters, best of sirs. It is not allowed to men of palace. I do know the suites housed prior rulers before esteemed Penjuris completed his grand addition.”

“Fascinating! Lead on, Mr. Nathok.”

____________----------____________

Their guide showed them out a discreet palace door. It didn’t take long to lose the luster of the palace, although this wasn’t a bad part of town. The three joined others streaming towards the central market where the Elf had leered and bought souvenirs a few days before. Just before reaching the shops, Nathok veered towards a purpose-built stone grandstand; something of a cross between the rock amphitheater in Rhûn and the back seats of the Catanard pavilion. It would hold about three-hundred people, shoulder-to-shoulder. Perhaps twelve rows high, the top two were cordoned-off and there was a flat area behind them for meeting and greeting. Stout poles, much like masts, extended out from a back wall. Those were hung with sailcloth on rings like curtains to shade the privileged upper rows.

A foursome of guards watched the patrons closely as they entered the grandstand gate to their reserved seats. Nathok took them up the stairs to the top area where several more armed doormen admitted them. Dressing lightly was a subtle way of showing they weren’t carrying weapons.

This area could handle about forty people with room to move plus another thirty reserved bench seats. Some would sit while others swanned-about the covered deck. There were ten spectators already there who stared as much as courtesy allowed. One of them was Mr. Du! He walked over with a knowing grin and said in excellent cheer, “Oh, how splendid! Good morning Lord Telgrin, Solvanth.”

The ambassador gave as good as he got, “Couldn’t keep us away, Mr. Du.”

Nathok leaned in and said to the ambassador’s aide, “Best of sirs, may I show you your seats?”

The young man nodded with enough understanding to follow along until they reached about five lineal feet of space on one of the identical, curved stone rows with a pair of feathered cushions. These Shûsans really know how to throw a party! The two men walked back to the flat behind the seating and Nathok took his place with other high handmen along a side wall.

Mr. Du was holding court with several other princes of administration, his opposite-numbers on the gaming commission of Ancalimon. Introductions flew so fast that even the great memory of the Elf was strained. He smiled and looked earnest, one of his best disguises.

Another ten people arrived. About a quarter of them were women. The diplomats weren’t expecting that. All were accompanied and modestly garbed but they were still out in public. Except for the Numenoreans and a couple visiting from downstream, everyone seemed to know each other. Some were of the ruler’s extended family. This would be the cream of Ancalimon, and they knew it.

They had been courtly guests for about an hour when the guardi on duty stiffened and looked to a door in the back wall near one of the buttresses. It opened with a brace of soldiers eyeing the crowd and then nodding into the darkness. More guardi walked out followed by Imbraer, Shûsan of Ancalimon, three women, two young men, three teen-aged girls and several personal servants.

Everyone on the deck bowed almost in unison and milled around trying to look important. Imbraer wasn’t a stuffy ruler, greeting several bowing subjects fulsomely and introducing two of his daughters who were attending Naming Day races for the first time.

The emissaries knew the drill. They waited beside the much shorter Mr. Du until being presented. That didn’t take as long as it might have. The real Chamberlain waived them forward to bow and offer the King of Ghondor’s personal best.

As intended, Telgrin got most of the high lord’s attention. All the while, Nag Kath hid his secret smile about his exceptional disguise. King’s Marshal, Colonel, sorcerer and Elessar’s brother-in-law, he would be the attraction were any of those were known. For this trip he would show even less of his talents than usual, knowing they might be needed more than ever. Women mostly looked at him anyway. Imbraer welcomed them solemnly, befitting regal emissaries, and then started introducing his family.

First came the two sons, something like fifteen and thirteen. They said how glad they were to welcome such esteemed sirs and were quickly on to other guests. Then came the females of the Shûsan’s entourage. The Gondorans knew Imbraer had a wife through an arranged marriage. She was an attractive woman of bearing who smiled and nodded at the hulking pair but said nothing. Something of a surprise was Imbraer’s first concubine. She was at least five years older than him. Word was she was the woman chosen to teach him manly service and never left. Fifty, or so, her once beautiful face hadn’t suffered from lines of care. She was a stout gal with a healthy appetite who also nodded her greeting.

The last grown woman was the second concubine, who looked a lot like the first must have twenty-five years before. She was a haughty piece who gazed down her nose at the starched northerlings but still gave the obligatory curt bow before joining friends. Both men separately guessed she was frisky under the heurzis.

Last came the daughters. There was another too young to attend and an older son enjoying the games with his own friends elsewhere. The oldest girl could not have been more bored. She bowed to the visiting lord, glanced at his towering aide and stood waiting for something better to rain down from heaven. The second girl seemed a bit dim. She looked like the Shûsana, as did one of the lads. On her first trip to the grandstand in the official cortege, she was too excited to really enjoy it.

The third lass might be twelve and favored the first concubine. She would be attractive when she got through the gangly stage. What set her apart was a beautiful smile, a lot like Princess Milli. Hambora had practiced her greeting knowing everyone up here was somebody and favored by her beloved da. Without missing a step she said, “Welcome to my esteemed father’s lands. I hope your stay is pleasant.”

Telgrin leaned down to say, “With such sunshine how could it be less.”

She smiled again at being taken seriously. Nag Kath wished he could pull a groat out of her ear but this was not the time.

___________-------___________

The tradition of Naming Day Games in Ancalimon was that the actual day and the days before and after were loosely reserved for celebration. This being the second and most important day, two horse races would be run around the short-track. It was actually the boulevard girding the central market which was now full of people. They would have to be squished to either side for the race. The final race was called the League-Run. A clever Shûsan built this grandstand so patrons could see most of the first two and the end of the last.

The first race was the youngsters’ stakes. These were ostensibly non-professional riders who had done well in regional competitions and were here on the big stage for the first or second time. Naturally, this was as fiercely contested as the professional race, although the betting was lighter since the horses weren’t as well known. A young man who made his name here might move on to share in purses at these Games and their like in towns surrounding the capital.

A great deal of money changed hands too. Professional gamers, ‘count-and-calls’ in local parlance, offered odds on the fine horses here to compete in honor of Jeshier’s first day as an acknowledged human being. Ratios were posted on chalked slates. Some bellowed. Others used subtle hand signs with punters in the crowd. Before each race the horses were paraded in-front of the viewers to help them choose their champions.

Telgrin and young Solvanth found their seats and were immediately brought cold tea and finger-cakes in the local style. For betting among this august group, handmen like Natoch visited the seated patrons to convey their wagers to the bookmakers. Nag Kath put a silver to win on a glossy filly with three white socks. Telgrin placed a convoluted wager on three horses; one to win, one in second and another third. If any of them hit in that order, his winnings would more than make up for losses if the other two failed.

This wasn’t a spectacle just to watch horses. Considerable business was done in the stands, the market and just about anywhere else. Taking and clacking the wagers took time. Then the beasts had to be lined behind a ceremonial wooden fence with all the unavoidable snorting and stamping one expects from high-spirited racing steeds.

A horn sounded. The inexperienced diplomatic aide thought that was when the fence would drop but it was to inform subjects to get off the road. Men and lads had been practicing tomorrow’s pennant-tossing exhibition in a wide circle directly below his Highness’ box and they quickly scurried to the crowded market stalls to watch. A dignified noble three boxes over stood and raised his hands as if in prayer. Everyone in the audience bowed. He sat and they did too. That was the countdown for a second, brighter horn to sound in three measured blasts, the signal to drop the fence.

Horses charged from the wide-spot in the boulevard. Two tangled on one side and went down but were quickly on their feet. One mare chased the pack and the other nuzzled his rider who rose much more slowly. Here in the elevated stands the crowd could see the first third of the race as the cluster thinned making for the first turn. People in the market only saw a few hundred feet from there they stood. It didn’t matter. Folk were cheering their favorites. A minute later, grandees in the stands saw the last third of the race as the competitors rounded the meat-market turn and made the straightaway for the finish line.

Even with as much exultation as young Solvanth offered, his filly was second to last, and that by a nose. The horse with no rider beat her but was disqualified. Telgrin’s second pick took that bet cleanly so he turned his two silvers into five and grinned at his luckless aide. The winner, by several lengths, was a seasoned mount causing great cries that he had been held back from the next race to thrash the beginners in this one. Still, when the young man rode across the maidan to receive his due, all cheered his victory and the Shûsan awarded him a gold medallion cast with Jeshier’s likeness.

Mr. Du slid over after twenty minutes of settling wagers to make sure the guests were enjoying themselves. Of course, no alcohol was served until after dark but discreet flasks were secreted in robe pockets. Telgrin assured him there was no place they would rather be so Du left to console a widow-woman who might have bet more than she should have. All the while, wrestlers and pike-throwers resumed practicing along the boulevard.

Like the first race, the second was for mostly smaller, sprinting horses that could manage the turns. This was the professional contest. The field was limited to eighteen qualifiers in lesser heats between Naming games. Riders were local celebrities. Success here could parlay into money, prizes and adoring females.

Serious money was wagered. Touts in the mingling market crowd needed cash on the barrel to secure their bets. Here in the Shûsan’s company, markers were good enough, sure to be covered in full. The professional riders wore colorful togs, the same ones every time so patrons could tell their champions from a distance. These sharp-elbowed lads took this seriously. Some wore fine-mesh eye coverings against a competitor slashing a crop in their face.

The race started moments later. As usual, Nag Kath’s pick was a solid twelfth and Telgrin won a couple more silvers when his third pick came in third.

The third race wouldn’t take as long to stage. Folk were tiring in the sun and this competition didn’t use the market oval. Horses filed by the stands for evaluation on their way out and were now lined three miles south on the main road. Their finish line was the wide main-gate to the city enclosure. It was well away from the palace walls with room-enough for all the horses to slow safely.

The League-run was the troopers’ race. These were larger horses built more for stamina than quickness. They and their progeny formed the front-line and skirmishing cavalry serving the noble house of Imbraer. Three miles is long enough that one can’t simply lay-on the leather. Riders have to know when to keep up and when to dig-in.

The gate was off to the gallery-spectator’s right. People in the upper levels positioned themselves. The Shûsan indulged his youngest daughter by allowing her to join her friend Kaipiesh’s family in the seats one down and three over from the Ghondorans. Kai was a clever girl who could knit whole sweaters without having to count the stitches! Dripping in heurzis, her family was here for all the right reasons.

A single horn sounded from the starting-line that could be heard here. While horses thundered down the farm-road, the Elf felt a witch-pulse from the direction of the yellow house. This was later than their usual ten-half bell speaking. Having taught himself to sense the faint pitches of their call, his mind hurt when a vastly stronger voice issued from the east. He snapped his head in that direction away from the gate. In front of him, Princess Hambora did as well while every other eye in the throng was fixed on the track. He watched the lass trying to understand the beacon no one else around them felt.

Then he looked back at her father who was staring him eye-to-eye.

The Shûsan left before the diplomats said goodbye. Natosh led them down the steps explaining that the Shûsan would receive them at the two-bell tomorrow.

___________-------___________

“You felt something.”

The aide whispered, “Far-speaking. Wrong time of day, though. Something’s cooking upriver. If this potentate drags his heels, we may have to be persuasive.”

Telgrin chewed on that a moment as they walked back to the suite and added softly, “I think our coming here helps us all. Negotiations are harder when both parties want the same thing. There is nowhere to compromise. The Shûsan needs to keep the Hûks on the north side. We need to bottle them east of the Tharnen. We know they have precious information about their neighbors we can’t get anywhere else. In exchange, they will want to know what we find – not discounting that they don’t want club-footed Duneishda stepping on the warag’s tail.

The Elf chuckled, “It seems you have found your future employ; Harad horse gamer!”

“There is a thought. I broke even on the last race.”

“I dropped another silver.”

I thought Elves knew all about horses!”

“No one’s perfect.”

_____________-------_____________

Imbraer had work to do. First; what to make of the Amrûn Kel-Lord? The two city/states of the Harnen had maintained diplomatic relations until three years ago when Ambassador Zondro was unceremoniously told to leave with all staff. That he walked out alive was a blessing. Other foreigners were treated more harshly. Zondro reported directly to Foreign Minister Ansor. Ansor’s brief was peaceful resolutions so he stayed to western allies.

Shûsan Imbraer met Zondro privately. The displaced diplomat was much like a southern Telgrin. Upon his return he was questioned closely about the Kel-Lord’s motivation. Ongaruth seldom explained himself while the two realms were still talking so this came as a surprise. Zondro had kept close tabs on an increasing supply of armaments; some staying in the capital, some moving upriver. Everyone on the council supposed that was why relations soured.

“Good morning, Excellency.”

“Take a seat, Knight Zondro. I trust your children are well.”

“They are, thank you Sire. My oldest is nearly of an age to dance in the pageant.” He smiled and offered, “She would have us think she is ready now. I prefer to wait until she has been introduced at the next Festival of Roses.”

“Very wise. You know of the northerlings just arrived?” The Shûsan took a sip of the green tea and motioned a servant to serve his guest.

“I do, Sire. Curious at first, but not so surprising with thought.”

“I agree. I granted their request for an audience … but I want to be prepared. What is their primary concern?”

“The north bank, though I think those independent fiefs could marshal better defenses than the Umbari along the south. The north has more defensible ground.”

“Again, we agree. I also think they purpose to visit Amrûn.”

Zondro nodded, “I wondered. They will be babes in the desert – even without the Elessar banner. They are here for help.”

His Lord was neutral, “For such good as it will do. But I do not want them to bring blame upon my house.” It was time for the question they needed to stare in the face, “When?”

Zondro adjusted an old back injury and stared at his toes for a moment. “Ongaruth has a quiet civil-war on his hands. He has been playing the barbarians off against each other but both have recently advanced to less than forty leagues from the Ghalibatu. History repeats in those uncivilized lands. The Kel-Lord cannot defend, but both Hûks know that acting alone leaves them vulnerable to the other.

“Tulbar is the only one with a chance of investing Amrûn. Sakûn cannot cross troops fast enough to hold the river-bend salient. He may simply seize the eastern ruins and take the breezes while the other two sort their differences.”

Zondro steadied himself for what came next, “Factions inside the Ghalibatu maneuver just as ruthlessly. Ongaruth’s princes are hungry. It is like the party-game where treats are beaten from a paper Manticore. Only; the one who strikes it always gets the fewest spoils. No matter how it falls-out, Amrûn will be under siege within two years.”

His lord considered that, “Alas for the north bank – but better for us. We need to make sure the war stays above the Harnen. First we shall see what these Duneishda are about. Be here when they arrive.”

__________--------__________

They didn’t bring their swords. Chamberlain Prehun and four guards in livery led the two northerlings through the palace. Both were again struck by the blending of Numenorean and Haradric influences. It was disconcerting – a bit like the forest in Mirkwood where the trees seemed to look over your shoulder. Nag Kath’s earliest remembrances as a changeling were of the beauty, the majesty of the White City. This place wouldn’t have served. Nag Kath gave the mosaic an extra long stare on the way by. Tonight he might have a look at the other.

Door-wards opened-up on sight and escorted diplomats briskly into a large council chamber. The room had glass windows on the south side with excellent light. Seated at the head of a large oval table was the Shûsan Imbraer along with a privy council of eleven men and one woman. She was a bit surprising since the Southrons generally keep the fair sex away from public policy decisions. They certainly advise privately. Meeting a full room was rare for a first moot.

They bowed and waited.

A counselor beside Imbraer, speaking for his Lord, greeted them in good Westron saying, “Welcome, representatives of the great Elessar of Ghondor. We hope your journey was free of troubles.”

Telgrin knew the forms and replied in flawless Haradric, “Thank you for your gracious hospitality, High Shûsan and honored advisors. We have been treated very well.”

The ambassador said no more than perfunctory greeting at the races. Imbraer should have known the man spoke their tongue but most around the room seemed surprised. This would make conversation easier. The tall aide had not said a word so his tongues remained a mystery. The man next to the Shûsan took it in stride and responded, “I am Ansor, Foreign Secretary to his Excellency. Please take seats and tell us of your mission.”

The two Numenoreans sat together at the far end of the table from the ruler. Telgrin would do the talking. Nag Kath was here for sorcery and violence. In his impressive baritone Telgrin began, “I am Boros Telgrin of Osgiliath, Advisor to King Eldarion of the dual kingdoms. With me is my aide Solvanth who hails from our coastal holdings.

“We are come to discuss disturbances to the east that might upset the peace our peoples have enjoyed for some time. Conspirators in our lands were discovered treating with those to your Excellency’s east.”

Imbraer spoke with a smooth, noble voice, glad he would not have to rely on his interpreter. “We are pleased of your interest. Of course, my humble fief is part of the greater Umbari Circle. We bask in their wisdom.”

The man nodded to Ansor who introduced the security, military and diplomatic staff in the room. Things were moving at great speed for southern negotiations. Both northerlings guessed their arrival offered options to a tense local stalemate. Still, each side would stretch this out as long as it took for a working plan. That or the Ghondor sailed back to Mírlond. The expedition was only this far east because the Elf was following magiks.

Ansor smoothly recited, “Would you mind telling us of your impressions?”

The Ambassador, who now had two months of beard and his hair re-colored to approximately its natural shade, complied, “I will speak freely, best of sirs and lady; if the warlords above, to the east and between are not content with their holdings, their next move will be towards Umbari lands.”

Telgrin deliberately skipped the King’s interests in North Harondor. They were here for the hard business of understanding, possibly disrupting, forty-thousand well-armed zealots pouring down the Harnen so he did not make contentious negotiating points with Gondor’s unenforceable claims.

For his part, Imbraer had the visitors come to a larger council so his trusted advisors could form impressions for later. All but one asked at least one question, none intended to reveal deep secrets. Finally, Ansor closed the presentation saying in Haradric, “Are you gentlemen in haste?”

As planned, Telgrin gave that to his aide in Westron. Solvanth whispered back and Telgrin replied, “Our time is yours, honored leaders of Ancalimon. We hope to meet again as the Lord Shûsan’s schedule permits.”

Somewhat unexpectedly, Imbraer added, “Perhaps in two days’ time.”

The Ambassador smiled, “We could imagine nothing finer, Your Excellency.”


	31. 870 of Amur Rising

**_Chapter 31_ **

****

**_870 of Amur Rising_ **

_Niefahra’s hair was entirely white but her face had barely aged. In a traditional shawl she looked in her twenties, still speaking to her flock, hearing little from Mordor. It wasn’t until the year 870 of Amur Rising, 3018 to northern men, that the tenor of the black rock changed. Niefahra dutifully walked the stairs of the west tower, past saluting guardi on the floor below. The Sergeant-Master of the keys unlocked a stout hatch door and stood by as the Mistress and two of her most powerful far-speakers continued the rest of the way by themselves._

_Niefahra sensed something was different just by the vibrations of the orb. In her careful way, she circled it slowly and looked north before nodding to her attendants and placed her palms on the glistening surface. For the first time in many years, the grim, and now older Dunieshda appeared first. He glowered at her face, seeming to see it for the first time. Both his hands were around a much smaller stone._

_As had happened before, he was replaced by the old man in white. His hand hovered over another small stone. The Mistress got the sense that she interrupted their conversation – perhaps why she felt heightened awareness._

_Finally, as always, the Eye emerged in flame, seeming to burn previous visions away. In all the time she had conversed with the spirit on the other side, it had never mentioned any other viewers. They seemed so obvious. That said; they must be allies and that was the Eye’s business. Hers was to convey his will to his Haradrim subjects._

_“Ah, my child – my loyal Speaker! You attend me at the correct time. It has begun. You will instruct every servant that all armies are to be sent north, to the great battle we have earned! My lands are to empty of all men and beasts in the next marching season. Granaries are prepared.”_

_In gravity even she had not heard the voice spoke slowly, “There is no excuse. Punishment beyond imagining will rain on those who do not heed my summons! They should not heed naysayers and intriguers against my lordship! The armies of Umbar and the Ethir Harnen travel up the coast. The corsairs do as well. The Haradrim are to journey up the Chelkar and hug the Ephel Mountains to Ithilioch. All converge on the cursed White City of the Ghondor filth in one year’s time.”_

_That was much longer then the Eye had spoken before. There was more, “Grain and beasts must continue through the pass to Mordor. All Harad granaries are to be emptied. Women and children will grow the next crops.”_

_Finally, “You and your servants will take quarters near this stone. Call to me every day. Claiming my due has come!”_

_Niefahra nodded as the light faded before her eyes._

_It had begun._

_Most days there was no answer. The Mistress still went, rain or shine. Her more important task was telling her far-speakers to instruct the rulers of these far-flung lands to send foretold armies. Amrûn was the crossroads. All supplies and men east of Ancalimon marched up the west side of the Chelkar. Most veered left to the desert pass at Oud Ilaz across Harondor towards the Poros River. Other units went over the Kupshe Pass directly towards the Nûrnen Sea._

_Sometimes the stone bore the other faces, both grim, both staring – hoping for some insight into the terrible darkness surrounding the world of men. They spoke to her but she never acknowledged them. They could not tell if she was there or just a vision. The men had never mattered._

_There was halting news from the west. Umbari corsairs had rebuilt the bulk of the fleet destroyed when she was a child. They delivered supplies too heavy for the backs of men and beasts to Amrûn. With them came tales of the dark lord’s predations above the Great River. It was said that vast swarms of orcs and warags issued from frigid northern wastes to beset men below them. Rumors suggested new strains of powerful Uruks, capable of withstanding sun, harried the horse rangers. They were controlled by the white wizard. The man of the stone? Again; irrelevant._

_That July the pattern changed. On the day of the new moon another face came to her, a man as old as the hermit in white but hairless with good teeth. He appraised her with seeming humor before saying in Haradric, “Hello Niefahra. I have instructions from our King. You are to tell all armies to stand-down. Tell them to cast their arms into the river, for those weapons were cursed by ghastly northerling spirits and will bring defeat to the hands that bear them. Warriors are to return home.”_

_Tentatively, Niefahra responded, “This is not in keeping with our lord’s instruction. Where is he?”_

_“He is engaged in a terrible struggle to the north so his southern armies must not arrive before he returns. You must be patient and await his further will. Do not to speak through this stone again, for it too is cursed by foul Duneishda magiks and must be cleansed. When the dark king has completed his labors, he will send word through his black wraith-servants. Do you understand?”_

_That was said gently but firmly. Unseen by anyone nearby, it came with the slightest trace of yellow light into the beautiful face framed by silver hair. Niefahra could not speak, but she nodded._

_Keeping one hand on the surface, the Mistress had her two attendants place their hands on the stone and the three called all houlars to countermand previous instructions. Those capable of confirming the message asked and were told that this came from the stone itself. Something bad had happened in the north. Perhaps the great lord himself was besieged._

_Niefahra obeyed._

_It was another three months of not visiting the stone which put them past the second harvest season around the fortress of Ghalibatu. Armies traipsing through had slowed to a trickle. Harnen and Chelkar Hûk warlords ignored Kel-Lord Manto’s emissaries. They still had their weapons. Supply ships from Umbari protectorates were thin as well. The houlars waited, as they always had. Theirs was a life of service and patience._

_On a black, stormy night, two Nazgûl riding foul, stinking dragons landing on the crenels of the thirteenth floor. They dismounted and clattered up the stairs at amazing speed. By then, the Kel-Lord’s top adjutants were in attendance. Several were swept aside by blows of power and fire._

_Just below the top of the north tower, door-guards to the Order Houloch quickly stood aside and monsters thrust the doors open hard enough to knock one off its hinges._

**_“Where is the traitorous witch?!”_ **

_Adept Evangala scurried up and was gripped by the throat. The black gauntlet squeezed the life out of her. As she flailed, Senior Hoular Bethu screamed the girl was not Mistress. Evangala was dropped and both Ring-wraiths stood inches from the new witch. One growled, “Then bring her!”_

_By then Niefahra arrived in her night-clothes and robe. Torches were lit. Bethu was forgotten and the shorter of the two specters put his hand aside the Mistress’ head._

_“Explain!”_

_She had seen these two before. They had done her no favors then. Standing her ground the witch answered, “I did as instructed. A voice from the stone told me to delay the attack and not to call again until you came. Is it to be used now?”_

_One of the two shot a blaze of fire, slamming her against the far wall. Anyone else would have been badly burned but the fire-witch rose unscathed with considerable dignity and angrily demanded, “Learn my thoughts, witch-master! Take the memory from me. I retained it against being put to the question.”_

_The larger Nazgûl, who had never spoken in her presence, walked close and enveloped the tall woman with an aura of green tendrils. Niefahra closed her eyes as if far-speaking and conveyed her conversation with the curious bald man and her tidings for adherents in faraway lands._

_The other wraith knew his mind instantly and growled, **“Ohrloach!”**_

_Turning back to the Mistress-witch he continued, “Was that his name?”_

_“You know what I do. He used the stone. It was as clear as our Lord’s instruction. Plainly the device has been sullied.” She composed herself, “What is your will?”_

_The tall one finally hissed, “Call to our master ... now.”_

_Niefahra and her torchbearers hurried up the stairs. The stone was pulsing, seething. First she got the old Dunieshda but he was slapped away as if a fly. The Eye flamed in anger. The taller Nazgûl spoke a few queer, harsh sentences, repeating the name ‘ **Ohrloach** ’._

_Glowing around the pupil lessened. After a few moments it spoke, “You have been deceived. What news of my forces?”_

_She answered, “They are slowed but not stopped. Granaries are half full. Beasts were slaughtered.”_

_“Call to all. Tell them to proceed with great haste! They must arrive by next summer. Resume daily contact.” After a long pause, “And should you see the old demon again, I am to be told at any hour.”_

_The tall wraith passed his hand over the hoular’s face and a faint silver glow passed into the field of sickly green. She felt as if some sense of goodness, a piece of her forgotten childhood, has been lost. Still, the shaken woman and Bethu touched the stone and sent their master’s bidding to the stunned adepts of the Order Houloch._

**__________----------__________ **

_This time the Nazgûl did not return north. One stayed in the fortress to oversee Kel-Lord Manto’s conscriptions. The other flew due east up the Harnen to demand greater armies. It was likely they already shared the same sentiments with the Chelkar barbarians on the way here._

_Soldiers from far lands began arriving again, mostly billeting on the south bank of the Harnen waiting for the lower river water before ferries brought them here and thence to the long, hot march through the desolation west of Oud Ilaz. Arms were sailed from the foundries along the river-mouth again. Not many soldiers cast their swords into rivers. Cursed by northerling sorcery or not, they were better defense than nothing at all. Food was good for now but they didn’t have the stores intended for the push into Ghondor, having eaten it during the summer against a mold blighting the seeds in late July. Ohrloach again!_

_The Eye now only commanded. Niefahra was to convey orders without comment. She did. Then, unexpectedly, the great Eye did not answer her call for weeks at a time. When it returned, it made demands. The Dunieshda was occasionally there, the older man in white more often – almost as if they were answering the door quickly for a word with a visitor before the master of the house arrived._

_Winter in the south is the season for marching – especially across the wastes of Harondor. Rivers from the windward side of the Ephel ranges were finally low enough to ford infantry. Scouts reported that the great, gray beasts of south Umbar joined them after swimming the Harnen at Gobel Ancalimon floated by barge hulks._

_In late February, Kel-Lord Manto and the vast army of Harad fell-in behind the smaller regional militias. The massive column took every fit man and lad along with every seed of food not treasonously buried under floorboards. Women and children watched, waived and cheered their heroes on to undoubted glory against the weak, pampered northerlings._

**____________-------____________ **

_All contact from Mordor ceased. Sauron’s lands below the Ephil had emptied everything of use to him. Occasionally Khandians from their deep southern realm straggled in along the Chelkar, it being closer than driving north and then through Mordor proper._

_Niefahra dutifully called to her master every day, sometimes twice if she received tidings from her far-flung adherents. Some of them were having trouble finding food or were assaulted by bands of local women angry that their men-folk were gone to northern spoils. He did not answer._

_In early March, the stone surrendered another curious surprise. She was now staying in the smaller sanctum created for her support just below the stone deck. A voice in Niefahra’s mind called her upstairs. It was night. Sauron always called in the day. She hurried with two torchbearers past the door-wardens and held the stone. It was already glowing. The old man in white was greatly agitated, calling to the Dark Lord for reinforcements and aid. Trees were attacking him! What nonsense! His pleas fell without sympathy. The Eye told him to win or die._

_Weeks later she saw a child’s face – no, not a youngster, a beardless creature with curly hair and pointed ears. He was frozen in wonder which quickly gave way to terror. The Eye demanded what he was and the little gnome fell silent. Then he mind-spoke as if entranced. The mistress knew just enough of the common-tongue to understand him describe dragons flying around a tower. He revealed he was a Hobbit. Sauron gloated, something he had never done with her, “Tell Saruman that is not a dainty for him. I will send for it at once.”_

_Both the Eye and the Hobbit faded from her view. Did the dark lord mean the stone?_

_Hobbit? What useless creature was this? Their armies would win great victories battling such hapless enemies!_

_It only seemed a matter of days but the seeing-witch got the most frightening vision yet. The old Dunieshda was screaming in agony at the stone in his fevered grasp. It was as if his hands were on fire, leaving indelible prints where his flesh joined the smooth, unyielding rock. Flames surrounded him in savage destruction. That image lasted almost a minute. The dark lord did not appear._

_The final stranger was a completely new face. This was a tall, grave warrior of the northerlings. He defied the Eye! Disdained it! Spoke to it in challenge! This was a much more formidable foe than the curly child._

_Minutes later, the Eye called to her. Being there she replied, “I am ready to serve, My Lord.”_

_“All my hosts must hasten! Battle comes before intended!”_

_“Your troops are already hurrying. Kel-Lord Manto should be nearly through the desolation if weather favors his path. The great beasts are just ahead of him.”_

_The Eye screamed, “NOT FAST ENOUGH!! Drive them! They must march until their feet bleed.”_

_“I will tell those on their way to proceed with dispatch. Verhana of our Order travels with the Kel-Lord. I will relay your tidings.”_

_After the Eye left Niefahra called to Fuhra onboard one of the Umbar transports and told her to use full sail. Verhana was supposedly somewhere in the Harondor desert not far from the dark lord’s lands of Ithilioch where the Mistress was taken from her parents. Even with Bethu combined there was no sense the mind-speaking had touched. There was no response. Too far; perhaps._

**____________---------____________ **

_Black silence. Weeks after the burning hands, a massive burst of energy swept through Harad like a great sandstorm. Buildings were unmoved but anyone not in shelter was hurled some distance. Every one of the dark lord’s servants and beasts collapsed in writhing death. Sorcerers in all ranks of the Yvsuldor, warags, remaining orcs hidden in the bowels of the Ghalibatu – all dead – all withered._

_People were starving. The crop would be fair but it was still three months away. The Order Houloch had enough stores unless hungry soldiers burst in. Where was the glorious news?! When would the men-folk return to tend their fields and families? Where were the fabulous spoils promised for faithful service?_

_It wasn’t until harvest time that ragged groups of combatants began dragging down the Chelkar to reclaim what little was left. Perhaps one in twenty survived what was called the most terrible fight in the history of man._

_Men in rags howled, “We were winning! Our master’s hosts had broken the gates of the White City. Orcs were securing the levels. The Mûmikils slaughtered brave horse-soldiers trying to stop their onslaught. Then – THEN, a vast army of decaying spirits descended on the proud army just before victory. Their swords cut flesh and our men’s blades passed right through them! The ghouls climbed walls and through stone, leaving none of our glorious warriors alive!”_

_Only units to either flank escaped. Arriving late, the grand army of Amrûn was beside the Chelkar Hûk. A few men threw themselves in the river and stayed afloat long enough to wash-up on the bank. All else was death and gore! The great Ranger, kin to the Kings of old, summoned his carrion army to beset the liberation forces of the dark lord! Who could imagine such devilry!_

_Another thing no one could imagine, and many tried, was why the voice-bearers of the slain dark lord didn’t suffer a scratch among them after every other minion crumpled like leaves. The houlars were unharmed – even still in custody of Sauron’s terrible far-speaking weapon! And it still worked._

_There was little time for contemplation. If every soul left in Harad brought in the gureeq, they would survive the winter._

**___________--------___________ **

_The winter of 871 Amur Rising was a bad one. Of the one-hundred thirty thousand troops that traveled north past the Ghalibatu, forty-five hundred crawled back. They formed militias according to their units in the armies of Harad and began fighting over scraps. Fortunately, it was a good year for fish of the river. The old, young and female still in the city could catch their dinner if they weren’t robbed._

_People were still hungry, hungry and angry. Remembering the well-fed houlars of the castle were in league with the gods who brought this desolation, the mob thought to settle scores. As they stormed the undefended quarters on the eighth floor, a number of assailants suddenly forgot why they were there. Worse, fifty who did remember found themselves lit ablaze with sorcerous fire. The witches had crafted their skills over forty years. In the world after Sauron, they would use them._

_Mistress Niefahra’s spoke to her adherents scattered in the ashes of the black lord’s former domains. Some of them had not been saved from the vigilantes. More had and were also using their skills to help heal the misery of loss. Babies who would never see their fathers needed care. Poxes were not scourged with the darkness._

_With the dark lord a cursed memory, they had to use their advantages. Sauron took almost every ruler of his domain with him. Survivors fought viciously to take their places. The Order Houloch would continue to advise whoever they thought had the best chance of winning. They spoke quietly. They did not make their efforts public. Women were told to become adepts of their city’s patron spirit, disguising their true calling. It worked._

_It took another twelve years of internecine strife in Amrûn before warlord Hamungaru emerged from the northern coalition to take the fortress with enough men to defend it and proclaim himself Kel-Lord. His primary law was not to raise arms against Hamungaru, but his soldiers policed the subjects, if only to make sure they got their share of the food and women. The man learned the hard way that the Order Houloch was not to be trifled with. Shortly after, they made it plain that they would carry-on as subtle advisors to his Highness, just as before. If the Kel-Lord wanted to keep what he had stolen, he needed tidings of his foes._

_A shaky truce emerged between the white-haired witch and a succession of Kel-Lords who seized the throne. Two claimants they removed themselves, which made the next man appreciate their counsel. While lordship hung in the balance, the natural resources of the confluence continued to provide. Different fish from both slow and fast waters fed the subjects. Grains from the delta replenished. Within two decades, trading vessels began probing for markets, selling things men here had forgotten; tea from the east, fabric from the north. Wool, leather, spices and fragrances. War-widows bore their babies._

_Niefahra began to age. Her power continued to grow but the innocent face showed trace-wrinkles now that her dark lord’s sorcerous gift of youth was sundered. She still aged much more slowly than anyone else. Houlars of the Order lived their normal lifespan. The witches did not marry but their servants could and had families of their own. Women scoured the countryside for girls who showed gifts, often staging pageants or sending to their minds in case one might turn at the sudden shock._

_The ladies also participated in commercial taxes. They did accumulate wealth, but that was not their purpose. Curiously they stayed in their eighth floor quarters, although the garbage chute was converted to a drain-spout decades before. Workmen knocked holes in interior walls over the years so there was no telling how large their warren was – unless you were in the Order Houloch. The top floor below the stone was still reserved for their use with quarters for a half-company of the Kel-Lord’s best sentries to safeguard this heirloom of power._

_They remade themselves for the modern world._


	32. The Real Meeting

Chapter 32

The Real Meeting

Prehun and a pair of impressive guards knocked on the diplomats’ door not an hour after they were dismissed. The look on the man’s face told the Numenoreans this was pure business. They nodded to the bored Marines, donned their tunics and silently retraced their steps to the noble apartments.

In a smaller, darker room sat Imbraer, his security man Kaligosto and the silent fellow from the morning meeting, this time on cushions. Prehun showed them to a pair of pillows and took his leave. None of these men had much common-tongue so it was good they wouldn’t need it.

Imbraer took a grape from a small bowl beside him and finished it before saying, “Excuse my summons. This is a better size to air concerns. We need to know if you intend to sail upriver.”

Telgrin was forthright, “We will if needed, sir. Our King needs answers.”

Kaligosto, of the foreigner-free contingent, said plainly, “A good way to get a spear in the throat.”

“Ever a risk.”

The security man leaned in, “You also travel to a hive of sorcery – sorceries of the ancients, spun like webs to ensnare even righteous knights.”

“We are aware of that, sir. Some of those magiks were defeated in the White City. The trail leads us east.”

Imbraer repeated his council’s objections to gauge the response. “Your lack of insight into the ways of Harad are troubling. My advisor is right; you do not know the monsters upriver.” Telgrin did not translate that for his aide.

Kaligosto seemed to have the bad-man role to the Shûsan’s good in the exchange. The Southron kept staring at Telgrin and issued a challenge, “We would not have tactless foreigners venture there to prove their manhood and bring discredit upon my Lord’s lands. You are new to these troubles. We are better served sending the Kel-Lord your heads.”

The next thing anyone knew, Kaligosto’s own head was pulled back by the hair with his dagger across his throat. The blonde aide said in Haradric loud enough for all to hear, “We bring weapons of our own. Nod if you understand or none of you leaves this room alive.”

Nag Kath decided a gulp was close enough and handed the man his knife in a blur – his silver aura shrinking as he walked back to his seat. As a rule he did not display powers to make a point, but Kaligosto was right; the Gondorans needed to show they weren’t rich adventurers trying to win a knighthood. Imbraer’s hand had slowly slipped into his robe. The Elf shook his head and warned, “Choose your enemies carefully.” The hand pulled back into view.

The silent man finally broke the pall, “You are ‘the Kath’, incarnation of Orloth the deceiver.”

Again, Nag Kath was thought the old wizard returned in another form. Perhaps he was, but the assumption helped their initiative. He said gravely, “My names are many over long years.”

Over those years he had a similar reputation, appearing hear or there at need but with long absences. Chievon said he was considered a spirit and it had been many years since he had done anything in the post-Sauronic lands. Meek! Displaying power worked against his natural modesty but he needed allies. 

He used his Elf-Lord face, which even Telgrin hadn’t seen. It was really just an orcish expression that translated well to the dashing changeling. Nag Kath began slowly, “That must also stay between us, for now. Consider this; we both have the same problem. If the Hûks threaten the northern river-mouth, Umbar abandons you. Then it is only a matter of time before one of them picks the bones. Amrûn has the answers, not that we may like them.”

A glance had Telgrin admit, “In truth, best of sirs, we did not intend to get even this far. We follow a consortium in Minas Tirith supplying steel upriver.”

The man who identified ‘the Kath’ introduced himself as Zondro then said, “Yes, ships stayed to the northern channel outbound – in your jurisdiction.”

The Elf filled the silence, “I am called to … evaluate the situation. This is not an attack or assassination, though it might become so. My compatriots and I plan a visit to the Ghalibatu, sniffing the air for intrigues. What we discover we will share, in exchange for a handful of the right men, a ship that doesn’t shout our origin and the silence of the grave.”

It was up to Imbraer. He bit his lower lip slightly and proclaimed, “Yes, you have my aid. As to silence; you noticed that my council is against your quest. That works to our advantage. Officially; you are to be stalled until you return home in frustration. Unofficially, operatives will prepare. Is that satisfactory?”

Telgrin nodded, “It is, best of sirs. Perhaps part of our reduced status includes new quarters away from allied eyes?” He meant Umbaris in the palace. They had as much at stake as anyone but Gondor was already dealing with them in their secluded port. Imbraer was on his own out here and couldn't be sure if Umbar had secret understandings with the Ghalibatu. No reason to rock the boat.

Kaligosto managed what could be charitably considered a grin, “You have done this before.”

“Too many times.”

Imbraer put his palms on his thighs to rise saying, “It will be arranged.”

The other men rose and bowed as well, including the sorcerous specter. Shûsan Imbraer wasn’t sure northerling demons did that. As everyone turned to go, he said softly, “Solvanth, a moment.”

The tall Duneishda stood where he was as the others trooped out. When the door shut, Imbraer stared at him long and hard. His forebearers in the Great Struggle dealt with such creatures nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. Since then they managed problems every bit as lethal, but not with powers beyond their understanding.

He needed to know! Poor little Hambora. She was his favorite daughter – favorite child if that could be known. A bright little evening star now possessed by some secret, evil society of mind-speakers.

“What of my child?” He was a strong man but there was desperation in the question. Imbraer had to balance his love for her against protecting his house.

Nag Kath didn’t see that as a mortal problem. “She has some of the hoular talents. Developed she might have the far-speaking ability they seek – possibly healing touch as well. She seems a nice little girl. I shouldn’t worry about it. Those gifts are not a calling. They can be ignored with free will. Most girls are anxious for the improved life it brings them. Hambora’s life seems fine right now.” He pondered and continued, “I am here to find the link, if I can.”

Nag Kath started to leave and then thought if he was truly including the Lord of this Umbari outpost in his scheme, he had one more secret, of many, to share. “Sir, what do you know of my work?”

“Very little – the name, that’s all. Others are better versed.”

“Over the years I have found pits of foul beasts hidden by the Angmarach in the capitals of Sauron’s former empire. They were hidden to assassinate disloyal rulers or create mayhem. You have two in this palace, untouched, as the Nazgûl left them.

“It is likely they died when the Witch-King finally died, but I should test them nonetheless.”

The Shûsan nodded, “Of course. It may take a week before you find new quarters. We will meet shortly.” The man’s relief showed through, “Thank you, thank you for my daughter.”

“You are welcome, truly.” The Elf stopped again, letting a little wry smile blossom, “It is better that I test the mosaics privately, just with the men in this room today. Afterwards, perhaps I could have a chaperoned chance-encounter with Lady Hambora.”

They bowed as equals and the Elf met Telgrin in the hall.

____________--------___________

Imbraer needed to think. He had heard of ‘the Kath’ as a figment of the past. But, as the figment himself said back home, he was forgotten by men of the west every generation. Here, he was a specter, thought almost thin air, but very much with us for thousands of years. The Shûsan, like most of his kind, could barely read. He did have an archive, mostly Khandian or Umbari texts, carefully stored in rooms men seldom visited. Scholars here read old texts for there were few new ones. They kept the tales alive by telling them to young men who repeated them in their time.

The following day, Imbraer and Zondro were attended by one of the Sayers in the eastern garden now that the sun wasn’t beating on their heads. Master Ghoulio was a wiry cove who was known both as learned in ancient lore and for earning a few coppers by making it interesting.

At first he was tongue-tied expecting to recite before the honored Shûsan, but the men just wanted answers to riddles. Zondro smoothly put the man at ease, “Thank you for coming, Master Ghoulio. Our Lord considers what might be in our storied lore to confound barbarian incursions from uncivilized lands.”

The old Lorist warmed to his task, “There is what is passed down through the ages and modern men’s interpretations. May I ask, Excellency, if there is something in particular my poor brain can summon?”

Imbraer was more formal than his new quiet-man, “We wish to know of the unnatural creatures that battled our forebearers in bygone ages.”

“The army of the dead was most savage. The northerlings also had huge eagles at their call … and shape-changers of terrible teeth and fangs.”

Zondro appeared to consider that and then ventured, “What about spirit demons?”

“Ah, perhaps you speak of the Orloch. Some considered him a powerful avenger … but, in other cases, he was a sprite – thin as thread-paper. There were tidings of him in the Khandi lowlands a thousand years ago, coming only at certain times of the year as if a mist or dream of influence. He bore many faces.”

Zondro encouraged, “Yes, that might be the apparition. And these are ancient lore …?

“Yes, best of sirs.”

Imbraer wondered, “Might the barbarians possess such a weapon?”

Ghoulio gave that honest thought, “I should think not, Shûsan. Perhaps the Elessar? His father raised dead armies; a more potent necromancer than Sauron when they met in battle!"

His Lord pressed, "The Elessar is beyond the circle. What became of his powers?"

"There are some who promote the notion that the Orloch became flesh again, a giant of the bitter north. Through yet fouler necromancy it slew sleeping hosts of our own wain-riders before vanishing. Those sorceries are more recent Your Excellency – the last with the second green shock. How does one combat such summoning?!”

The Lorist pondered that and added, “The Hûks had their own demon spiders. One cannot imagine the necromancers and wind-speakers finding accommodation!”

Zondro floated, as if of no consequence, “Spiders? An unflattering description for those who claim power?”

Ghoulio became animated, glad his learning was appreciated, “Oh yes, yes. The women who talked to the wind. Before the war they instructed great rulers of men as the dark lord’s voice, including our own Shûsan Markhu! But when the Elessar called his unclean retribution down upon Sauron’s servants, they disappeared, some rendered by the mob, perhaps the rest in withering death like the Yvsuldor. Their web was in the Ghalibatu, so it is said. I have never been there.”

Imbraer had heard what he needed, asking a final question, “How did one discover these wind-speakers?”

“I am sorry, Excellency. I suspect only one who could hear their song would know. Perhaps an accursed girl-child before she was bound in their terrible service.”

The next morning, the Shûsan, two of his high counselors and the two Ghondor were discussing something quietly when the tall one clumsily dropped his mug on the ancient symbols. An attendant rushed with a towel but stopped when the foreigner waved his hand at the spill – one of their queer superstitions against water-demons, no doubt. With a sheepish smile he let the handman mop-up while they turned towards the Shûsan’s personal apartments. At the concubine quarters, Kaligisto shooed the guardi away. With only two official mistresses, the women stayed in their own suites near the family. These; the former ruler’s rooms, were now used for storage or the occasional ranking guest.

This time the blonde foreigner poured water from a skin over the exquisite mosaic in the main salon of the charum. The other four men stood rapt as a silver mist formed over the tiles. There was also a hint of some other color – faint – perhaps just reflections. Solvanth rubbed his fingers together as if testing fabric and nodded to his host that he was done.

On their way out, the bored daughter from the races appeared with her duenna in the hall bound for a lesson of some sort. Everyone bowed according to their status and the five-some walked through the opened door. Hambora was playing with her younger sister Taneth, daughter of the newest concubine. They both bowed deeply to their honored father.

As arranged, Telgrin said to his aide, “We shouldn’t be long.”

The tall one watched the men walk to an anteroom before finding groats behind both girls’ ears. Gondor lasses of that age would be unimpressed but with their sheltered upbringing, that was a marvel! Less than a minute later, Taneth was summoned, leaving just the Numenorean and fledgling sorceress in the sunny room.

He sat on a settee and invited the Lady to join him. She had never been treated so boldly by a man – and such a big man! But she smiled and sat in the chair a few feet away. The blonde creature continued, “I hope you enjoyed the races. I fear I lost all of my wagers.”

“Mother did rather well, but Lady Methzán lost too.”

“It takes more than my poor skills to know which are fastest.”

Hambora said seriously, “I asked father if I can learn to ride someday! He said it was unbecoming for ladies of station.”

“Perhaps when you are older. What are your favorite horses?”

The lass said with great gravity, “I liked the dapple in the first race. She is more my size.”

The blonde giant considered that and then frowned, “That was good fun. But there was that shrill noise – as if someone didn’t grease their axle.”

“Oh, I know – like talking bees! It rings in my ears. My friend Kaipiesh didn’t notice, and she is so clever!”

“Perhaps it is just your esteemed family. I hope your mother wasn’t inconvenienced.”

“No. Mother can’t hear it either.” The expressive child leaned over conspiratorially, “She told me not to bother father because he is so busy.”

“Talking? All I hear is the screech.”

She grinned, “It is a woman’s voice – very stern; she is! I am glad she is not my mother.”

“Goodness! What does she say?”

Hambora scrunched her face and remarked, “You are a curious sort!”

“I fear so. But that is a terrible noise!”

“Very well. The loud woman asks questions. The little voices … mostly they talk in numbers – say a word and then a number after it ... like the men taking bets. I liked that – but father will not let us wager – says it is unbecoming too! Although High-mother wagers through her handwoman and won the league-race!”

“Numbers?”

Lady Hambora adopted a stare something like Inariel’s and continued, “They are too large for me.” Then she grew animated and cheerful. “Mistress Ophirah has taught me to count to one-hundred! She is clever too.”

“Counting is very useful. One can add horses and soldiers and all the things they wear and eat.”

“Horses don’t wear anything, silly – no they wear blankets. I apologize, best of sirs.”

“Think nothing of it, Lady Hambora. Ah, here is your esteemed father now. If you will excuse me, I must attend him. It was a pleasure speaking with you.”

She rose and they both bowed before the Duneishda sauntered towards the four men, three of whom walked back into the corridor as the blonde went in with the Shûsan.

“She has the touch.”

Imbraer shook his head low. This must be a terrible sign.

Nag Kath continued, “It only means she could be one of the houlars, not that she must. Now; this gets interesting. Your lass hears what these women are saying – not well – but they have a code using words and numbers. I only hear a squeal. My educated guess is they are spying for someone upriver.”

The Shûsan was not entirely relieved, “And my daughter?”

“Her mother told her not to bother you with these voices – I suppose against you thinking she is daft. Let it slip that this is not against your lordly wishes. She might notice those in your household who hear them as well … perhaps speak them. Those numbers mean something.”

Imbraer put his elbows on his knees and made a heart-shape with his fingers. Nag Kath waited. He was good at waiting. Finally, the Shûsan sat upright and asked, “And you? Are you the fell-monster here to destroy my realm?”

“No, but there is a dragon under your charum. I don’t know if it is dead. Let us hope your enemies cannot summon it. You might consider new quarters by our rooms for a while.

“My concern is these lads upriver. You have had time to ask your advisors about me. I cause wars. You need one – the right one. To the east we have three bad ‘uns jockeying for position on opposite sides of raging rivers. Soon, one of them will either think himself strong enough to strike or weak enough to risk a surprise attack.”

Imbraer reached for a small bell on his side table, asking, “Are we done with Hambora for the time being?”

“We are, sir.”

He rang the bell and a handman was instantly in a side door. “Fetch the others back in.”

Kaligosto; who seemed to have slightly more tolerance for meddling Duneishda, Zondro and Telgrin arrayed themselves in a circle after bowing to the Lord of Ancalimon. The Shûsan spoke as a leader, “Zondro, it is time to tell your tale.”

The former ambassador had prepared, “Three years ago, May, our entire staff was told to leave Amrûn by the Kel-Lord’s right-hand man. We suspected something since the visitor of South-bank was bodily tossed out a window – first floor, thankfully. But for two years, we had not seen Ongaruth and for the last year, not even Minister Bramner.

“My Eyes said steel was coming from northern allies. I can only assume he meant your people, Mr. Telgrin.”

Telgrin clarified, “Acting against the wishes of the King. That has been rectified.”

The three Ancalimons seemed relieved. Zondro continued, “Good. Either way, a lot of weapons made their way upriver. Here it becomes muddy; some of those ships were destined for the Kel-Lord but other shipments sailed past the Ghalibatu and were off-loaded onto beasts slipping up the Chelkar. Ongaruth must have known, because what little commerce reaching his banks is carefully watched and taxed.”

Telgrin asked, “So, they are in league?”

“I think not, honored emissary. More a matter of balance. I doubt much went up-Harnen, but those lands have the only rich iron mines near the confluence, and the black rock to melt it. If Sakûn wasn’t armed, he could not have taken control of that waterway.”

Nag Kath let Telgrin ask, “Sirs, I now need to ask what you would rather not tell me. Sakûn’s best path leads to your gates. Have you the might to repulse him and will Umbar bleed for Ancalimon?”

Imbraer nodded to Kaligosto who replied, “Yes and no. It is like the tales of hundreds of years ago when the desert Hûks descended from the headwaters and forced your forebearers back to the Ghondor. Those of us who conquered returned here as masters. The cycle repeats. Ancalimon is strong against one warlord. Not two, certainly not three.”

There was profound silence for a few moments. The next topic raised could consume them. Nag Kath looked to Telgrin. He needed to show their cards. “Sirs, the voice of the houlars is not just here. The order is pervasive; in every city of the once vast Kingdom of Harad. They speak to each other through sorcery of bygone power. There are others in Mírlond, Ramlond and with Tulbar, probably Umbar. They tell each other of your preparedness.

“I suggest you give them what they want.” He paused for effect, “Supply wildly different rumors of troop, horse, ship and artillery estimates throughout your command. In some cases; Umbar offers aid. In others; the Ghondor bolster downriver defenses. Some days they dither to vex you.

“This is important; do not destroy them. I need them to keep talking – the more I hear the better – like a dog listens for the reed-whistle even his master can’t hear. That leads me to the heart. If a suitable ship is being fitted and your stout lads prepare, I think we should start the dissatisfaction that has our embassy sail home empty-handed.”

The Elf looked directly at the Kaligosto for this; “Please have quarters reserved outside the walls – something nice but obviously not what we enjoy now. Refuse Lord Telgrin’s pleas for further consultation. We will take the hint when the true mission is ready to sail.”

As a servant showed the Duneishda to their rooms, the three Ancalimons remained where they were. Kaligosto had the job of confusing the wind-speakers. He would know a lot more about them soon but would not act, not yet. He would also remember who was told what in-case those numbers appeared where they shouldn’t. Zondro would assemble a half-dozen men who knew the Amrûn route and could pass for water-dogs in any tavern between. The Shûsan only had to act as he usually did, both for the safety of his realm and for the salvation of his sorcerous daughter. To keep up appearances, he would actually receive and ponder the boorish northerlings’ petitions before denying them.

Perhaps they could speak again if the expedition returned alive.

____________-----------____________

That afternoon Zondro asked one of his aides to fetch Demeltha Breon. The salt could be Listracht reborn except for some surviving hair. Like almost everyone else in this land, he stood about five and a half feet tall. Only forty, his skin was Mûmikil hide from life on the waterpath.

And like Listracht, his sunny disposition belied hard-nails. The man served his ‘five’ up-Harnen where a vague border separated Umbari Ancalimon from Haradric Haruzan. This wasn’t soldiery the way men of the west imagine armies in pitched-combat against obvious foes. This was more protecting tax-payers from Swerting horse-thieves. A number of subjects weren’t above lifting strays themselves. He had almost made Sarn’t when a raiding party stood rather than run.

Men wounded badly enough to need long rest, but not so badly to end their suffering, were quartered with families for care with modest recompense. Young Demeltha wasn’t that much older than maiden Saunie. One thing led to another and when the man was as fit as he would get, they married and he joined her brother’s business sailing a haraugh serving little towns on their side of the Harnen.

For six years it was a good job and a good marriage until Saunie got the river-pox. At half-term with child, it took her and their son quickly. A lot of people died that year. Demeltha’s heart would not heal. He rejoined the army. He quit. After almost a year of using every groat he saved swilling gureeq wine, he took passage on a two-master plying routes to the east.

Most trading-towns were on the north bank – small, self-contained city/states – less Umbari with every league into the heart of the Southron river-valley. This was Imladrim; vast deserts to the north with fertile lands along the gentle Harnen. Thirty miles east, all pretense of the great Umbar empire was gone.

Still, they traveled. Capt’n Bethmel had a supply of the fabled worm-wool fabric that opened doors among the elites of Amrûn. It only came once a year, but once a year was enough to risk the river pirates near the confluence for a ten-fold profit. Bethmel’s ship had been an Ethir defense craft. When the government tired of replacing hull planks, it became a trader. It still had ballista-mounts on each side. They hit what they aimed at.

For another six years Demeltha learned almost everything there was to know about the river-trade from Ancalimon to the joining of the wild Chelkar and the tame Harnen; different fish, different ships, different people. He would be working those banks today but Saunie’s father died and left the heartbroken river-man a modest apartment building inside the walls of Ancalimon. Now he collected rents and argued with tenants who tossed their soil-pots into the street.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Ambassador. Please convey my best wishes to your family. Your oldest must be fourteen by now.”

“She is sixteen and knows a great deal more than her indulgent parents.”

Demeltha shook his head and smiled, “None of us can cheat father time.”

As tempted as Zondro was to say he met someone who had, that secret had to wait. He did say, “Time gives us purpose, a chance to complete unfinished duties with honor.”

Demeltha was silent as the grave. He knew that sentence hurt. Zondro had been a rising star in the diplomatic firmament before returning without portfolio. That it took this long for relevance was more the lack of quality postings than competence. Zondro folded his fingers together before saying, “Do you know of the Duneishda in port?”

“I’m told they are a harder lot than usual.”

“I hope so. The Shûsan favors me again. I will be going upriver with them – returning to Amrûn. The great Elessar King wants to know of the troubles there.”

Demeltha Breon kept his face straight. Zondro was putting his head in the warag’s mouth. And he was recruiting, which meant anyone with him was too. Demeltha also knew that being a petty landlord would not heal the ache in his breast. He had skills a quiet operation needed.

Zondro let him chew on that for a moment and continued, “Yes, a set-piece drama is playing where they lose the Shûsan’s ear and return west. All the while, we must prepare a less conspicuous vessel to take half their crew, select men of our service and two diplomats upriver – in stealth.”

“Stealth, eh? With respect, sir, that is not a task for greenbottoms. Will any of us leave alive?”

“Our lord wishes tidings as well. We cannot speak them otherwise.”

In other words; they would do their best. Zondro handed Demeltha a small purse, “Purchase a swift patrol haraugh made merchantman. Sail-master Khombo comes to mind as pilot. Crew it with a dozen of the right lads. You know the type. Then buy wares that will sell quickly and others that will not, depending on excuses for staying or leaving. The Duneishda have goods of their own.”

“And what of the diplomats?”

Zondro finally allowed himself a small smile. His Shûran handed him a chance to rejoin a nearer circle, where he had been heading three years ago. The man said simply, “They are professionals.”

__________-----------___________

Four days later Zondro accompanied the Kath and Telgrin back to the Bresto. A wink brought Capt’n Fortdale, a sailor and a marine to follow them upriver to a commercial dock. There they met Sail-Master Khombu and two of his crew. Ro-Jardïn and Pearsall were already on deck learning ropes and rigging. Suddenly, mysteriously, and lucratively for the former owner, the Manticore was purchased by anonymous investors and sailed to this new dock for refitting. Shallow-hulled and not as large as the Swan Breeze, it could still crew twenty men. Scratch the surface and you found some were more soldiers than sailors. It was the sort of craft meant either for, or to repel, pirates.

Telgrin and Nag Kath nodded to sail-master Khombu and walked on deck. This was the first time the half-dozen Ancalimons had seen them. Men of Mírlond treated them cautiously, but the tall men laughed at their jokes and generally didn’t present themselves as dark lords. The Umbari didn’t have that luxury. Some knew the myths of Orloch, but all knew the blonde was not of their world. Watching without trying to seem so, eyes followed the Duneishda as he inspected the deck, fittings, rigging and them. A quick trip below the hatch and he was back none the dirtier. That morning Crewman Poliash tempted fate getting near the northernling’s trunk and was violently ill over the side rail.

Khombu knew this was dirty work, but he was a loyal Shûsan’s man. And since he hadn’t spent a groat for the hastily assembled cargo to be taken to the Ghalibatu, he stood to do quite well – if he lived. The tall one asked in Westron, “When will she be ready?”

Telgrin looked around the deck, “We’re ready now. The Shûsan regrettably agreed with his council and denied our second request to parlay.” He grinned, “Time for the Bresto to tuck-tail and make for the merry port of Mírlond. Fortdale wants to come with us.”

Nag Kath said gravely, “He needs to make our departure convincing. It might save his life.”

Two mornings later the Manticore slipped its moorings and headed downriver for a quick delivery. That same afternoon, the dejected lords of Ghondor left a different dock with sorry tidings for their King. In twilight, the marines and half the sailors of the Bresto stowed their gear on the Manticore to sail back past the fortress of Ancalimon, promising themselves they would see it again.


	33. Where Shadows Fall

**_Chapter 33_ **

**_Where Shadows Fall_ **

**  
**

Men of Ancalimon explained that from this point east the river looked less like the Anduin, narrowing to merely a quarter-mile across in some places and without the shifting mud. The same easterly breeze helped the vessel tack upriver.

Ancalimons left the tall one alone. His own kind treated him as usual. He didn’t play dice. For the next twenty leagues, most of the population was on the north bank because the mountain range encircling Emyn Imladrim produced drinkable tributaries. On the third night they put-in at Yharme on the north bank. The port had a reputation as a splendid place for sailors to lose every fiver in their pocket and not regret it. Following King Elessar’s policy of letting half the men enjoy the scenery, Telgrin saw them off for an evening of wine, song and two split lips.

While they were carousing, the sleepless Elf took the bow watch next to Demeltha. The two adventurers hadn’t said more than hello. Neither was bashful so Nag Kath began, “I understand you are the soul who knows our destination.”

“I’m Eyes. Zondro knows some of the palace. I don’t think anyone knows it all. Never been in the heap myself, but most places in the city-proper.” He wasn’t expecting the girl-man to speak his tongue so well. 

While he considered that, the pale one continued, “Good. We’ll start with snooping. What do you know of the Spider?”

Demeltha had Listracht’s smile too, “Ah, so we come to that. Well, let me see … you understand I can’t prove a word of this, but it is said an ancient woman conjures sorceries from the days of Sauron himself.”

“Hmmmm, in the north those magiks are spent.” The Numenorean didn’t seem upset. Hearing of black summoning, most men would blanch or act tough. This one just sat there watching for movement on the water. He looked young but didn’t act it. 

That topic wasn’t finished, “The spider?”

“A sanctum of women; all ages, none much to look at. Advisors to the court. Folk wonder what they do. Every so often, a Kel-Lord decides he doesn’t need their counsel and is sorry for it – so – they have their hooks into some very unsympathetic characters.”

The Duneishda took his gaze from the moonlight to the hard-bitten river-man. “You know why we’re going?”

“Aye, got to learn where the Hûks plan to hang their caps.”

“Ongaruth too. Seems to me he is between the anvil and the sledge.”

“You know something of his position.”

“Seen it before.” Nag Kath stretched his legs. “Unless one of these warlords has a supply of barges upriver, how long would it take any of them to land enough troops on the other side of their bank to hold it?”

“All paths lead to Amrûn. It is like the child’s game where there are three players and four spaces. None can take the fourth space without vacating their own. If Tulbar crosses the Chelkar, Ongaruth can get there fast enough to slay the vanguard. Sakûn’s holdings are largely on the north Harnen. He can’t get to Amrûn either. Figure a month for either Hûk – more if they have to fight their way off the riverbank.”

The blonde man thought a few moves ahead, “But yet they converge. Left to their own devices, what happens?”

Demeltha appreciated being asked by this lordling, obviously someone of an important family and yet properly respectful of his superior officer. Where did he learn Haradric – granted, a rustic Imladrim dialect – but still fluent? If the Shûsan gave this mission his blessing, Demeltha would answer his questions. 

Like a Lorist priming a paying crowd, “Well, since you asked, I think Sakûn consolidates the north bank, east of the Ghalibatu ... Korondaj, Fallajah, the little river-valleys streaming in from Pezarsan. Some will be stoutly defended. Some will throw flowers in his path. So … how long for him to cross … ? He doesn’t. He stays where he is and sees what the others do.

“Tulbar is another matter. He seeks empire. Those Chelkar fanatics cough-up more than their share of holy warriors. He claims sorcery – perhaps with the spider’s lovely lasses?” The river-man let that hang in the event the bland, handsome face betrayed something by deck-light. It didn’t so he forged on, “This will be resolved with treachery, not force of arms. That’s my opinion. Now, what takes you away from the cushioned royal court of Numenor?”

Nag Kath took his eyes off the still water for a proper answer, “My life’s work. My King, and his father before him, asked this of me.”

Demeltha wasn’t impressed. Who was this boy who claimed to know the old King’s father? “And if your liege ordered you to Gizar itself, you would obey?!”

The pretty man looked back at the water seemingly not insulted. “I went there of my own accord once, to use the low pass into Mordor. We raised a host of Hurms against the Assured. When was that … one-hundred ten years ago. It seems I can’t get enough of this place.”

Demeltha looked at that face again. It wasn’t young. It was ageless. This was ‘the Kath’. He knew his Kath myths. A convincing disguise! 

Thinking that sounded too hopeless the Elf looked at Demeltha again, “We consider one or more warlord advancing west. The north bank is our problem but if Umbar is threatened, that bodes poorly for fat merchants in your home. My Lord Telgrin wants to learn more about the spiders.”

Now sure who actually called the tune, savvy Demeltha said with as much sincerity as he could manage, “I’m sure he does.”

_________---------_________

Sixty miles upstream the Manticore docked at Fal Tengari on the north bank. Not quite halfway to Amrûn, it was the largest city in Imladrim, arguably the capital if Imladrim had such a designation. It was ruled by Governor Houshuld, son of Feddig. One of the Shûsan’s private letters was to be presented to the man by a combined delegation of Ancalimon and their esteemed guests from northern lands.

That mattered to Houshuld. This was the last stop on the eastern route for respectable Harnen merchantmen. The fishing was good and adequate farmlands stretched north towards the only real pass over the southern mountains into the interior with occasional copper mines not found on the south bank. While not entirely under Ancalimon’s control, it was said when the Shûsan caught cold, Tengari sneezed.

They would stay as long as a week. 

While waiting for the Guv, Nag Kath walked the streets with Ro-Jardïn looking and listening. As accurate as a bell-keeper, the call issued from the east at the ten-half with a middling response from right here in Fal Tengari. Like he had seen so far, the sanctum was a plain two-story house in a modest district. These houlars represented themselves as acolytes of the Maia Havanha, goddess of greenery. Since that didn’t pay well, they earned their living as weavers of fine carpets with strands of the impossibly rare heurzis to make the colors sparkle.

The Elf parked himself at a convenient eatery that served a fish surprisingly like a trout. Those came down from the Chelkar but only made it about this far west. The main river fish were a torpid breed of gouchar along with huge whisker-fish.

Not long after he heard the call, two women adherents of the Order Havanah emerged from a fortified door with baskets making for the fish market. While there, the silent man behind them watched as they paid close attention to every boat and ship of other waters. Neither noticed the blur. 

When they got to the Manticore, an impromptu Catanard was staged for their benefit. One of the Ancalimon sailors shouted up at Demeltha, “There is nothing for it! We barely have enough planks in the hold to repair the first crack.” 

Demeltha yelled back, “Why can’t you fix it?”

Mottosh shook his head staring into the hold and growled, “Come down and look. Capt’n better buy a shack to strip the boards. One good knock and this seam splits like your sister’s legs.”

“Leave her out of this! If we can get the wood; how long for repairs?”

“A day – two at most. We need more oakum too.”

“Dougsh! Then what?”

Mottosh kept his eye on the bilge. “We get our copper and get back to Ancalimon in time for the regional races. Ellu’s running the short-track.”

“Bah! I’ve never made money on those nags. Take my advice and you won’t bet either!”

The women lugged their groceries back to the sanctum as the tall one emerged to watch with the deckhands. So; spies. Hopefully that little performance made the Manticore as bland as the gouchar fish. Mottosh was a born actor. That bit about Demeltha’s sister – Nag Kath wouldn’t ask if there was anything to it.

Zondro was a genuine ambassador and had contacts in the city. Demeltha knew people as well. After bunking in the best inn, the emissaries were granted an audience with the Governor in the company of Zondro and Demeltha, the latter in better clothes than he had shown thus far.

Houshuld had no particular bone to pick with the Duneishda, but he was first course on the menu if warlords trampled the north bank towards the Ethir Harnen. He could listen. His spies didn’t see much. Every now and again they rousted obvious Chelkari for information. Most were refugees with neither tidings nor bribe-money. The Guv may have shared more with the Ancalimons privately but with the northerlings he was polite and pleaded pressing matters as soon as was decent.

A more interesting source of news came the following night. Nag Kath, two of his sailors and three of the Manticore’s crew went to a better-than-average tavern on their night off. Elf ears heard a conversation in Khandian two tables over. They used the same Laorki dialect as the players in Dol Amroth but it was quite understandable. It seemed the five men were from Sturlurtsa Khand, Lower Khand’s westernmost fortress. No doubt they had insult contests with the Southrons further west but nothing like the poor souls defending against the Chelkar maniacs facing Bogath. A good road got them as far west as Talazhan where the Harnen became navigable for small pole-barges.

The Manticore crew caught the tall-one’s interest and kept their voices down so he could eavesdrop. When the crowd thinned, three of the Variags trooped upstairs, leaving two younger men for ‘last round’. When they did, a blonde trader walked over and sat in a warm chair. The smaller Khandians weren’t pleased, but six-and-a-half foot giants weren’t to be crossed lightly.

There was no need. He said in Haradric, “I heard you are from the east. I have friends there and hope all is well.”

The youngster seemed polite and brought his own mug so the man next to him muttered, “Well enough.”

As unexpectedly as if the Duneishda had pulled them from their ears, two silvers appeared on the table; one for information, one for silence. The intruder murmured in Khandian, “What word of Sakûn’s host?

Two silvers! What sort of fool was this? He was their sort of fool and they had no trouble describing the Hûk’s army and civil administration – at least what they saw from as far away as possible. Nag Kath was expecting tales of woe and robbery. It seemed Sakûn was little different than the tyrants he replaced and his troops weren’t to strip the larders bare. Bribes to get here were reasonable. Of particular note; the Hûk had few barges capable of moving more than a company. Manfro saw as many as twenty horses at a time but they were skirmishing and scouting companies, not spearmen on chargers. 

Toyam said his cousin’s cousin in Laorki made belts and boots for the Khagan’s border guards. Business was about the same as usual so unless they got their footwear upriver, and curse their manhood if they did, Khand wasn’t bolstering the line. It was another hour before the Variags joined their party after a grand old time with the blonde kid. Oddly, neither man remembered him in the morning.

With the houlars watching river traffic, the Manticore limped off the wharf late the next day seeming to make west for home. At dusk they righted east and used a half moon and Elf eyes to double-back past sleeping Tal Fengari.

After that stop the river narrowed. Currents were stronger. There was no room to tack so if the prevailing easterly wasn’t blowing, sail-ships just waited until they did. Two days of good breeze got them about fourteen leagues upriver. When it died the Manticore was nearer the south bank so they pulled onto the mud and made a campfire. This happened often. 

Villagers gathered round with whatever produce and meat was available – wine too. That was good enough for the next few days. Men played dice on deck and told stories when light failed. Nag Kath told a few – too fantastical to be believed.

The breeze freshened on the second night so they shoved-off at dawn and began what they hoped was only another thirty-five leagues to the capital Amrûn. The local sailors were still unsure of the tall creature. That grew worse when the helping breeze became a sand-storm. Men instinctively wrapped gauze around their faces with only eye-slits to see. Nag Kath did as well but with his long hair flying, everyone saw the pointed ears. 

That meant something much different than it would to men of the west. For one; Elves were mythical warriors of the frigid north – blessed with long life. For another; they were on the winning side of the great war until they mysteriously left. Folk here weren’t even sure what an Elf was. Was he a god? Was he a shape-changer – a were-Elf here to become a monster? Orcs had pointed ears too! Their very ship was the Manticore, famed fell-creature with the body of a huge cat, the teeth of a shark, wings like a dragon and a stinger like a barbed-tail spider. No man could defeat one!

No, this one blew the dust out of his nose like everyone else. And he deferred to the Telgrin, whose ears weren’t pointy. Oh, oh! It didn’t matter. They were in service to the Shûsan and his wish was their command. The marines and Mírlond sailors seemed calm and professional.

Nag Kath also had moments of doubt. He was not used to this. In his unexplainable journey, he did what he could, reacted to events, sought meaning, nobility, harmony. Now they sailed under the Evenstar, his wife’s grand-da. Few knew its origin. 

Or did they? A million people below that beacon knew it by a different name. Elves would have to mean something to believe that glow was a man, made Elf, piloting a magical ship in the stars waiting for a last great task. Did that make them wrong –ignorant – unworthy of the great gift of mortality that bound them to this place, this time? 

Men of the west could not understand that. He, perhaps alone on earth, knew enough people, in enough lands, to realize they had similar measures of family, morality and destiny. A tyrant deep in Sauron’s lair just bared his soul to save his daughter. He could make of the Evenstar what he needed.

Nag Kath looked up at Inara’s light and wished he was with her.

__________-------__________

Telgrin asked Capt’n to hug the north bank when he could. As it happened, that was the slower water so they were there most of the time. Mountains of the Tirith Amrûn left foothill valleys like fingers down to the Harnen. It was fairly fertile soil and what they saw was green. Sometimes those rocks came to within a quarter-mile of the water with a well used road just above the bank. 

After the tributary town of Mansgo, they were now in Amrûn. Ruins of fortifications dotted the high-points of those finger-hills. Nag Kath was put in mind of the beacon-peaks along the Edoras highway. A blaze atop could be seen a very long way. Not as far as the houlars could speak though. Perhaps they replaced the poor sods freezing by the woodpile watching for bonfires.

The river turned slightly more northward as the ship entered the basin forming the Amrûn confluence. There was a stout fortification on the north bank of a finger almost reaching the river with the market town of Ihrig-el where the land widened again. They docked with the sharp-eyed Elf paying close attention to men with weapons. The citadel would be hard to take with troops marching from the east, but ships of Ethir marines could storm the place at leisure. Interesting how access to wood made such a difference. 

It was time to frighten the men again. Zondro started, “Well lads, we’re close. Here is where we have to keep sharp.” He gave staring eyes a professional look before adding, “We are here because Lord Telgrin and Mr. Solvanth follow the call of spiders. After all these years, they can still speak to the wind, their voices heard in the great cities of the Harnen and lands of the Duneishda. With that I’m going to let Lord Telgrin continue.”

“Thank you, sir. To all eyes we’re ordinary traders here with goods we think will bring some silvers. Some will sell quickly. Some will keep us here longer than we appear to like. You men are to look bored, enjoy yourselves, but not too much. No loose tongues.’

Demeltha piped-up, “Mind the guardi. They are sullen brutes who squeeze scofflaws hoping to stay out of gaol. Keep single coppers in every pocket and two in another in case you are rousted – doesn’t mean you deserved it – but be prepared. Knives are fine. No long-swords. That leads to unpleasantness.

Poliash, who had been here several times before, offered; “The women, well, some of them, are a sight lovelier than the lower river-mouth. If you must, stay to kept-houses rather than what you find on the street. Other than Demeltha’s pennies, leave all cash but what you need here onboard.”

Zondro spoke again, “Betray no opinions of the warlords. All of them have spies. A tavern full of Kel-men will sell your name to their worst enemy. We are just merchants of Ancalimon with no views to local politics. Report anything you hear. You could cut the tension here with a knife.”

Everyone had been waiting for the Elf/Manticore. He said softly, “I need to find the web. I expect that means the tower. To start; I work with Mr. Zondro or Demeltha. The three of us are unequal partners in this mercantile firm, should anyone ask. The rest of you are here to get paid with no blood or family connections. 

“I carry this small horn, a keepsake.” He pulled the horn he got from the Brittanal brothers from his satchel and blew. It was surprisingly loud. Slipping it back he continued, “If you hear it, I am taken. Get on board and push off. Return to this port if you can – until you can’t.”

The tall one stretched his legs and gazed over the river. There was more coming, “When we dock, the three of us will work the merchant quarters with our various goods. Pay attention to who takes an untoward interest in the Manticore. Watch for women, especially in pairs.” 

Men shifted. Wasn’t he the Manticore? “Keep bows hidden but close to hand – axes beside the mooring cables.”

Zondro had to make sure the Shûsan’s men knew this was their lord’s will. “For now we are gathering information. If these women are talking with the Hûks, and we know at least one of them is, first we want to discover whose side they’re on – probably their own. Mr. Solvanth will try to untangle their nest.”

Vibrahm, the oldest crewman, piped-up, “I can help. Three years ago I was here on the Banach-Khala. Capt’n didn’t pay enough wharf tax. Some of us were hauled into gaol. Capt’n paid dearly and they let us out next morning to see a pair of women, dressed in black, going in the same interior gate. On the west side; it was.”

Nag Kath looked at Demeltha to get his views. The fellow scratched his head and added to the skein, “Makes sense. That’s where the Customs Office sits, as greedy a pack of warags as you’ll ever find.”

The Elf’s smile became a grin of Kathic proportions. His eyes never left Demeltha. The river-man muttered, “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No. Now what do you suppose would happen if a pair of river-traders happened by a tavern near their hive sporting a little heurzis?”

“Trouble for sure!” He saw the direction, “And some official, unofficial inquiries about where we got it. I know just the place.”


	34. Ghalibatu

**Chapter 34**

**Ghalibatu**

Three days of fighting the current to the lazier side of the confluence brought them to the commercial wharf on the south side of the city proper. On the way in, every eye stared at the massive gray fortress Ghalibatu. The Elves of the Northern Kingdom told Nag Kath of Dol Guldur before the witch of Lorien destroyed it. Without knowing this heap was built over eight centuries of mortal indifference, one might think Sauron himself laid the cornerstone.

The outer walls were about the same acreage as the footprint of the fourth level of Minas Tirith but in something of a drunken square. The fortress itself looked about twelve stories – a lopsided guess. It could be a massive apartment building. From there rose four mismatched towers on each of the cardinal directions, a bit like the crest of Orthanc. The eastern overlooked the Chelkar – the tallest and best kept. That was where the Kel-Lord lived, along with anyone who mattered. The southern tower was empty but that side of the main building primarily housed the city-soldiers when they weren’t in the field. The top was an observation deck for Harnen traffic. The west side, closest to the commercial docks, seemed residential; mercantile families who had worked their way out of the squalid city.

Outer wall gates were open during daylight. Curiously, building-sized lots alongside the inner walls were vacant. Vibrahm explained in the haphazard construction process, spouts for rare rainwater were cobbled-in after floors flooded. Flows were routed through unused corridors and out half-pipes down to the street. Most of the time that wasn’t a problem but when the city got a gully-washer, tons of water would pound down on those empty slates – not where you wanted your apartment.

The north tower seemed a breeze away from crumbling. From where they docked it would be a brisk half-bell walk for a better look. For now, the western inner gate was the target.

It wasn’t fifteen minutes before a wharf-warden sauntered by to inspect the Manticore. He didn’t demand to come aboard but spit something brown before saying, “Fee’s ten groats a night. Wares must be declared before leaving the ship. Understand?”

Second mate Frandriq nodded and replied, “Wait here.” There was no risk the customs-man wouldn’t. Frandriq was back with a silver; the five night discount. The wharf-warden didn’t bite it but he looked it over closely before wandering back to the market.

Everyone stayed aboard that night and milled about on deck the next morning waiting for the Manticore/Elf to sniff the wind. Around the ten-half, he heard it. Here at river-level he couldn’t tell exactly where, but it was from the Ghalibatu. Unfortunately, the plan was working.

That evening Demeltha and Solvanth wandered to a nicer-than-average pub as the working crowd arrived and took the end of a long table. Gureeq wine was poured after coppers were shown. They were dressed like every other Harnen merchant but with hints of new worm-wool. Men arriving with the six-bell stared before finding their usual places.

Demeltha taught the Elf the national anthem, generally sung to start the evening’s festivities. As sure as Arien brought her sun, a soldierly fellow stood and began the first verse. Fortunately it was in a key of the Elf’s limited vocal range and he belted out the lyrics like he was born to Harad.

Their fine contribution had the desired, if unpleasant, effect. Before the second beaker hit bottom, four street enforcers stamped in and glared down on the gaudy river-peddlers. Three kept glowering and the fourth threatened, “You are in the city without license. You must come with us at once.”

The womanish youngster looked frightened. The older man looked annoyed. He finished the dregs and both of them stood for the short, silent walk to the western Ghalibatu gate. Two men held torches. All four had swords. They crossed the courtyard and climbed fifteen steps into the main door. From there they marched down a corridor to a den of like-minded public officials.

This was not a guardi headquarters meant for honest law enforcement – no drunks, no cutpurses, no public nuisances. The quarters were a customs office, in the loosest sense of the term. The two with torches set them in brackets on the wall as the other two escorted the luckless merchants towards a closed door. One rapped a combination knock and it was opened from the inside by a considerably larger than usual Southron. He stared at the captives and stood aside.

Nag Kath told friends many times that he had been alive so long that everything eventually repeated itself. The functionary sitting at a plank table eating reminded him of Bror Dulgov. He didn’t really look like the Rhûn but he had the same swagger. This was his patch and how he made his living. The extortionist looked up briefly and went back to his meal as the senior street-tough announced, “These are the men who have shown contraband goods without paying the Kel-Lord’s duties!”

The big Southron by the door just stared. At six-feet tall, he was a strapping bully used to having his way. The administrator almost finished chewing and growled, “That is illegal. Your cargo will have to be inspected.”

Demeltha said professionally, “Of course, honored Ilhough. We are ready to comply.”

Nag Kath tried to look nervous, biting his lip but holding his tongue. The Ilhough (block-warden in western parlance) was one of several of his ilk with personal ruffians combing the pubs for hapless targets. With preferred turf near the docks, he fleeced the most foreign victims.

Ilhough Urion stood and walked closer to the traders. So did his bodyguard. In complete command, he said with no risk, “I know. That is why you are here. Consider yourselves fortunate. In exchange for the fabric you smuggle you will not be publicly whipped.”

Demeltha acted like he had done this before. He probably had. The tall youngster suddenly found some hidden well of courage and blurted, “Father will never agree. We are to see Mr. Valhouch …”

There would have been more to that but the big tough slammed his fist into the blonde’s stomach. Nag Kath doubled and staggered but did not lose his feet. Sarn’t Triess lumbered over for another blow when Urion shouted, “Enough!”

This was an unwanted and expensive complication. Under-Minister Valhouch had considerable clout in the palace, which had little to do with corrupt policing outside the walls. If any or all of the cargo on these halfwits’ ship was here under his auspices, Urion couldn’t just help himself and pretend nothing happened.

There was nothing for it. The Ilhough would have to report this to the under-minister's office knowing that his slice of the pie would be better than if he offended the wrong man. In the moments while Urion contemplated the value of his share, the tall creature puked on the floor and slid down the wall. Urion nodded to the remaining guardi saying, “Take them to cell three. Keep your mouths shut.”

The ruffians hauled the junior sailor to his feet and half carried, half pushed him down another, deeper hall sixty-feet beyond the office. The door slammed and all was black quiet.

__________--------___________

“How’s the belly?”

“It hurts. I’ll be fine by morning. Good thing you and this Valhouch fellow are chums.”

“Twern’t me. Ambassador Zondro knows him and his reputation. He also heard the man was visiting his properties downriver. Hope they feed us until he gets back.”

“Maybe. I bet we hear from someone in the palace on his behalf. This local hooligan couldn’t get us very far.”

Demeltha exhaled deeply. Stone floor-slates in cell three of the lower Ghalibatu weren’t ideal accommodations. He needed to know more about the mysterious stranger. “So, you have a plan?”

“I have options. Just remember, when I say ‘NOW!’ close your eyes and cover them with your hands.”

With no light it was hard to tell the time but early the next afternoon, the door swung open and two guards with torches told the prisoners to get out. They didn’t need to be told twice. Two more hard-men fell in alongside.

For this trip they made their way out a side door and into a courtyard. The guards were better dressed than the city louts but were also silent. Sentries stiffened and opened a more impressive set of double doors before the Ghondor and escorts began winding up a wide staircase.

The Ghalibatu was even more confusing inside than out. Open windows let in enough light to see a boggling array of corridors and other stairs. Scant art and sculpture sported a wide range of styles and competence. That had to be taken at a glance because the escorts moved quickly.

At what seemed three stories up they reached a wide and well-lit hallway. A guard knocked on one door of many and waited until it was opened by another good-sized protector. This one wasn’t quite as thick as the last but he looked more dangerous – faster, perhaps. He stepped aside as the party of six walked towards a gaunt administrator looking out what must be a coveted window onto the courtyard they just crossed.

The official turned as they approached and let them bow. The pause was to let them sweat. After half a minute he said with no emotion, “You are here to avoid a beating, or worse, for bringing contraband without leave. The next thing out of your mealy mouths will be how this cargo is delivered to the Kel-Lord’s servants.”

Demeltha had the first line, “Of course, honored sir …”

“Assistant-Kaplan Bresathag to you!”

“Absolutely, Assistant-Kaplan. I am afraid your men have raised your expectations unfairly. We carry modest woolens and copper goods.”

The grim man said softly, “It will go badly for you if we have to extract this contraband by force.”

The tall trader looked at the shorter one as if he was quite insane. They were in serious trouble! Demeltha paid the meek blonde partner no mind, saying calmly, “Naturally. We will return to our vessel and your inspectors can examine our hold.”

Bresathag raised his voice, “By now all worth having is long secreted in the city!”

Demeltha said nothing. He wasn’t here to defend or deny. This was extortion and his fate probably wouldn’t change no matter how they cooperated. When he couldn’t take the suspense any longer, the blonde blurted, “Yes! Yes, quite right honored Kaplan!” Then, in a quieter, professional tone he continued, “You would not want to take a large company of men.” Implying the Assistant-Kaplan might not want to share his ill-gotten gains too widely.

A glance at his hard-man had the latter nod to the four guardi that they could leave.

Bresathag growled, “All right, say what you will.”

What the tall one said was, “NOW!”

Demeltha only just closed his eyes when a burst of yellow light coated every corner of the room. “You can open them.” When Demeltha did he saw both Amrûns standing as if spellbound, which they were. Nag Kath walked to the bodyguard and told him, “Tell your men this is in hand and then return to your quarters for the rest of the day.”

They waited until the fellow left and clicked the only door shut. Then the Elf put his face directly in-front of the Kaplan’s saying plainly and clearly, “You will take us upstairs to the houlars.”

As powerful as the confusion spell was, annoying the spider women brought dire consequences. As the man struggled with those two perils, he absorbed another directed burst of yellow and the resonant voice repeated his instructions. He was doomed. “The sorcerer added, “Nod to the men when we leave.”

Bresathag didn’t nod but he did lead further into the castle with two nervous-looking captives in tow for higher judgment. One story up, the baffled Kaplan headed towards a large, well-lit staircase. Nag Kath commanded, “Take us by secret paths.”

Their guide froze as if considering which route to take and turned sharply back the way they came and then down a dank corridor until they made a small, circular stair. When the man stubbed his toe, Nag Kath provided a beam of silver to guide their way. That meant another four floors up steep, narrow treads until exiting a little used door into another wide hallway. They were about to barge ahead when two women covered in gray came from the other direction and knocked on an elaborate door.

Nag Kath grabbed his escort by the collar to keep him from walking right up to the entrance. That was as much as they should push this fellow. He would have no influence with these women and raise the alarm. The Elf spun him around for eye-contact and said in echo-sorcery, “You have done well. The ship was of no interest. You will take your old friend to the western gate and fare him well. Then you will not remember any of this. Do you understand?”

Assistant-Kaplan Bresathag nodded dully and began to turn. Demeltha looked at the Elf. He did not care for leaving him but realized he would be in the way of dark powers – perhaps beneficial – but still ever so dark. Yellow and silver! He nodded with a far different meaning and followed the customs-man past a guarded corridor where was found a much different conversation.

___________-------____________

“I tell you, Tulbar will no longer wait. With his spider in the Ghondor slain, he will march this season, maybe sooner.”

Ongaruth stared at his counselors knowing they were right. These last four years had been increasingly tense. The houlars were dedicated to their home in Amrûn but they were just women – powerful and talented, yes – but not combatants.

The Kel-Lord clutched at straws, “What of the woman with him now?”

Advisor-Konosh Cevaldi had explained and would patiently do so again, “She spoke to the powerful witch sent to the Duneishda. Together they had much more influence. Alone, she is little more than a messenger. The woman is old, without the sensual talents of the last. When the bhan-Hûk thinks to move in stealth, her days are numbered.”

Ongaruth had decisions to make, “When?”

“Before harvest. Our only hope is to catch him fording to our side of the Chelkar. Failing that; we bolster the northern wall.”

So; not much hope at all. “Send in the black spider.”

General Moch signaled the door-ward who left and slowly returned next to three women. The two to either side were what one expected of high holy-adepts; middle-aged, solemn, dedicated.

Steadied on an arm of each was the witch; impossibly old, inscrutable, the only one of many fell creatures still alive after Sauron wagered all and lost. The blaze of white hair surrounded a still gentle face, now wrinkled and pale. She must have been a great beauty. How many lovers had she pleasured in her day? That was a secret she would take to the grave – if she ever died.

The woman’s attendants carefully helped to her a chair made for her and then stood back with hands folded on their wombs. The Kel-Lord began, “It is a pleasure to see you, Mistress. I hope you are well?”

“Well enough, Kel-Lord.”

That was as far as she would take the conversation. It was up to him. “For which we are thankful, Mistress. Your tidings of the north are concerning.”

“As they should be, My Lord. Now that Sakûn consolidates his takings, Tulbar grows restless.”

Yes, a terrible, almost certainly, fatal error. Four years ago when the eastern tyrants began their bloody conquests towards the confluence, Sakûn seemed by far the greater threat – more men, arms, food, even some horses. His progress down the river-valley was exceptionally fast. Many city/fiefs were taken without blood. On the other hand; Tulbar had to fight for every inch. That came as no surprise since the Chelkar was a region of fierce clans. Neither Chelkar nor Amrûn had the iron to re-arm fast enough. Umbar certainly would not share theirs.

That was when the hoular women and Tulbar’s council created the grand scheme to have steel made and delivered by the indolent Duneishda! A concubine witch of the Khandi was strong enough to report over water and wastes. The northerlings had their own sources, rich mountains dripping with ore and wood to melt it into the blades and wheels of army. And they did it gratefully! That was most amazing.

The primary goal was to keep Sakûn bottled on his side of the Chelkar. Then, contrary to his every predecessor, the Hûk created a nation of what he had conquered with no further thrusts into Amrûn territory – even the ruins on the east bank. That was two years ago. Suddenly, armed Chelkari became the graver issue. Tulbar seized the fortress of Korb Chelkar, infamous pathway to Mordor. Last season he invested Oud Ilaz, gateway to the Kupshe pass with the headwaters of that river to feed his conscripts!

Alas, unconsciously arming the armies of the confluence was as much as the witless northerlings could manage. Halfway to the Tharven was Ongaruth’s realm. It grew and caught enough to feed itself and send modest taxes here for his sensible rule. The rest of the north bank was controlled by the Umbari all the way to the comical Duneishda outpost near the sea. But Umbar would not defend it, and neither would the northerlings. The Chelkari made tentative overtures of combining their forces to take the entire north bank. Ongaruth went along, if only to keep Tulbar from investing his capital. Those probes predictably went nowhere.

Kel-Lord Ongaruth needed some answers from the tight-lipped houlars. And he needed them now. “Yes, Mistress, we are come to discuss Tulbar’s impatience.”

“I thought as much.” Niefahla touched her chin with a finger and looked at the Kel-Lord directly, something few dared do. “There is no discussion of the armies without mention of your sons.”

Yes, my sons! What treacheries were they planning?! Ongaruth followed the lead of prior Kel-Lords siring children from a variety of bound-women. He had five boys. The oldest was a simple lad; kindly and ill suited for leadership among these fierce people. Second son Randulf was nothing of the sort – making him the greater threat. He was also the man who negotiated with Tulbar in the doomed attempt to create a united northern force. The Hûk would have explored other strategies better suited for an ambitious prince.

Third son Frandulf was similar to Randulf – different mothers but close in age and temperament. Frandulf had dealings with Sakûn’s emissaries. Had they come to settlement issues of their own? Like father, like son. Ongaruth would have, so he had to expect his spawn would at least consider the choices.

Fourth son, Peto, for short, was more like the northerlings, taking after his mother. She was and remained a beautiful creature taken into the household after clan marriage obligations were met. Given the distance between women of the haven, Peto hardly knew his older brothers. The man now held responsibilities for the westernmost edge of the realm along finger valleys of North Harnen, largely to keep him distant and occupied. The youngest son was only seven. He didn’t figure into the succession any more than his six sisters.

“Sharp as ever, Mistress. Things are as they are. We need you to keep the northern barbarians in camp.”

Niefahla showed rare emotion, “Our lady tries! Tulbar tolerates her but does not heed her counsel. We needed both of them ... our best far-speaker. He will not allow another of our Order to attend her, but he does not inhibit her far-speaking. Celenieth reports northern grain seeds weakly this season. If your western fields bear better, that is all the more reason for him to dine along the Harnen.”

Ongaruth showed some emotion himself, “All things we know! Now; what tidings of the Umbari?”

“They prepare to defend their heartland, but the far-flung fiefs are left to their own fates. Curiously, high ministers of the Elessar attend them, bearing gifts. Militias train on the north Ethir, but have not pressed many of the local men. The Duneishda are headless. Any force issuing forth from here has only the Tharnen River as obstacle.”

Ongaruth knew that was about as much as he would get, “What then, Mistress of the Order Houloch? You are as fond of your motherland as me.”

“You sought a bargain with the Chelkari. Play the same hand with Sakûn. He will not want Tulbar as his neighbor any more than the slothful Umbars. If Ancalimon stiffens the southern road, their easier empire is through here. Either movement bodes poorly for your continued rule, honored Kel-Lord. Occupy them with intrigues.”

She was concerned and showed a card she generally wouldn’t, “I may be able to reach the eastern tyrant, once, at need. Make sure it matters.”


	35. Exploring the Maze

**_Chapter 35_ **

**_Exploring the Maze_ **

Nag Kath lurked in one of many shadowed nooks for another hour. He heard a pair of guards stiffen at attention when a third pair of women approached from the other direction. They nodded pleasantly to the men as the door to their sanctum opened without notice. Shortly after, two like women left in the same direction.

He let them get a lead so he could ‘fast’ by the guards without dogging the houlars’ heels. Those heels made a lot of noise on the stone steps and they were the only sounds. One woman was in black and the other in a combination of gray and grayer, a novice, perhaps? Both carried baskets that smelled tasty. They chatted. Methan’s simple boy was losing his baby teeth. Fahiesh’s joints were troubling her again. And wouldn’t you know, handwoman Houra’s daughter was being courted by a merchant’s son! It was the sort of banter one expected of washerwomen at a fountain.

Whatever else these women were, they were fit. Both climbed another four stories quickly and emerged into a large central hall with liveried guardi at several surrounding doors. Light streamed in from clerestories in a central pergola. This must be the top of the main building. Without stopping or talking they veered left. 

Door-wardens smiled and opened-up after wishing them a pleasant day.

Before they passed inside, a five-groat copper clanked on the hard stones by their feet. Everyone heard it and looked at the ground. One soldier scooped the coin and offered it to the women who shook their heads that it wasn’t theirs. The man nodded to his opposite number, slipped it in a pocket and both men bowed as the houlars made their way inside. 

This began the true climb. The sisters of the Order wound their way up a combination of large and small staircases broken by occasional landings to catch their breath. This must be the northern tower with each floor a little smaller then the one below. That was confirmed when they passed by occasional open windows where he could stop for a quick peek at the surroundings. At one he got a look at the Manticore. It wasn’t surrounded by soldiers.

Nearing the top, the women came to another large landing, this one with a tall ceiling and guardi in special livery posted outside a stout double-door. The Elf couldn’t get very close and stopped in the dark hall entrance as the women approached the sentries. In this city of scowls one door-warden showed unexpected manners, “Good morning, Sister Hathan. Your climb has not affected your complexion.”

The woman in black, who never had what would be considered a fair complexion, giggled and offered, “In my youth, Corporal Nangram.”

The Corporal kept his smile saying, “You are early today. Let me see if Sister Amandola is prepared.”

The man knocked and entered, returning with two like ladies who walked into the hall as the door shut behind them. One was taller than the others with a more senior demeanor. She motioned to drift towards Nag Kath’s hiding place for a private word. Sister Hathan said softly, “Our Mistress was summoned by the Kel-Lord. It seems there are troubles to the north again.”

Senior Sister Amandola’s face never twitched but she asked, “How is our Mistress bearing-up?”

“It is hard to tell, elder sister. I think she gave as good as she got, but the authorities of our blessed city have few options. I have a message for Assistant Mistress Branathae. Is she inside?”

“She is. Is this for her ears only?”

“No Elder Sister. Our ears in the east need to listen. Instructions will come later.”

“Go then, and share your tasties before they get too cold.”

Nag Kath had to use a bringing spell to hoist himself up to a jutting stone brace to avoid meeting the leaving sisters face-to-face. Magic; thrice in a few minutes. Nag Kath knew he might expose himself but there was no other way to follow them, much less find their destination in this anthill. The tall woman looked around as if for the source of a breeze but continued down the dark staircase.

Houlars weren’t the only ones in the vicinity. There was a half-company of troops quartered just below with their own staircase to this landing. They looked like good ‘uns by dress and tone. They weren’t quiet though, giving the Elf a rough count of six on duty, that many resting or playing dice and occasional troops to relieve them coming by way of larger, better-lit steps in the same direction. 

He had to get in. Guards and witches! Nag Kath was hungry. Throwing-up as a show of pain lost his last meal from fully a day ago. The broken rib had mended. He could go days without food and water. That was Elvish but not used much when the firstborn lived in forests of plenty. 

The changeling got nothing for four hours, although he did feel a strong pulse just as the sun set. The break came when someone above tossed their trash out a window where he could see it. Two door-wardens walked out of their barracks buttoning their tunics. Both walked the twenty paces to the houlars’ door and bowed to the men who had been standing guard.

This being the dullest assignment in the palace, and certainly one of the safest, the men were in fair spirits and chatted rather than the solemn changing of the White City sentries. It seems one of the new guards’ dice were blessed by Fhulk! He enjoyed describing how private Menfal helped finance tomorrow’s visit to a well-kept house in town.

Nag Kath used the distraction to blur over to the window for a peek out and up. One story above was another window, the only place the garbage could have come from. The next story showed the crenels of the top. What he wanted was probably there so using another bringing spell, he fixed onto an ungainly rain-gutter and raised himself forty feet alongside the gray Ghalibatu. He couldn’t make a grand entrance so clinging to the bottom edge of a louvered archers-port he looked around. There was no one and not much up here. A quick hop onto the deck revealed it was square-ish, mostly flat with stone over stout planks. It was also a deal cleaner than most of the dank fortress. 

In the center stood a carved plinth of fine white stone supporting an orb of surpassing blackness. Towards one corner of the deck was a stout hatch-door that could be opened, or barred, from either side. In one corner sat a small, stone chapel with no door. Slipping around the parapet, low enough not to be seen by anyone staring at the bleak tower, Nag Kath then circled the dark stone.

There was power here, great power. He had held implements of Sauron’s or his servants. This didn’t give that feel, but this was still deep in the heart of the black foe’s former haunts. It was ancient. He could not tell if it sensed him. 

The Elf stooped for a closer look. Whatever road this rock took to get here, it did not show a single blemish. In the late-day sun, it reflected Ariel’s rays like a halo. He steadied his hand on the surface and stooped to read the inscription. 

It began to glow! He saw unseeing, confused faces looking at him before the light faded. Stealth was lost. Elf ears heard commotion below; women issuing orders and soldiers falling-in. As tempting as it was to lower himself to safer floors, this would be the most interesting conversation to date. He leapt on top of the stone building, just out of sight, and listened.

Two minutes later, two women and half a dozen guardi opened the hatch and cautiously made their way on deck. The men circled the parapet crenels looking for mortals. The women gathered by the stone in contemplation. 

A brief eternity later, one of them said, “You are sure, Mistress Branathae?”

“Yes, and no.” She turned to the Sarn’t, “What have you found?”

“Nothing, ma’am. We are alone.”

Nag Kath couldn’t see but he felt her touch the stone and issue a call to her adherents. It only took a minute. Then she said to her aide, “They felt a pulse but no voice. It was not threatening. Perhaps an ancient spirit returns to old haunts. Stay vigilant. We must all stay vigilant. I go to attend the Mistress.” Nag Kath heard her walk the perimeter herself before they all marched down the hatch steps and barred it from below.

Well! So that’s how they were talking so far away! It was much smaller and smoother than the Erech stone. What monstrous tool of the dark ones was this? And how had it survived when all the rest were destroyed? Maybe not. There might be bushels of these things still seething in wait. The ‘mistress’? Was she the spider? Were they all spiders? From what he’d seen, they were typical Southron women of their myriad religious orders. Further thought could wait so he lowered himself to a window on the other side of the tower.

On his way down to the city, Nag Kath took a variety of paths. Some were dead ends but too dark for anyone to notice. A sanctum temple was empty of people and spirit. That took him fairly close to the noble apartments on the top floor of the main building below the east tower. They went up several stories as well. More and better dressed guards stood sentinel by the main doors. He also examined some of the gutters.

“A fell black speaking-stone?! What devilry is this?!” Ro-Jardïn was actually more fascinated than afraid. 

“I’ve seen them before.”

Telgrin was more practical, “Large?”

“Fully three hundred pounds. Not the sort of thing you could slip in a boot and walk out the door. And it thinks, or someone thinks through it. I’ve known dark weapons of the enemy. This did not share their feel of malice.”

Pearsall took it all in stride, “Can we destroy it?”

The Elf shook his head, “I have never seen anything so dense. It is harder than any tool we might use.” He thought of the Elf Lord Elrond’s description of the One Ring.

Ambassador Zondro added, “We may not want to.”

Everyone gaped.

“While you have been gallivanting about the palace, I have asked questions of old friends. Mr. Solvanth, I know not how you managed this, but the guardi are quit of the Manticore like it was poxed. Gather around and I will share the politics of Harad.”

For fully a bell the man outlined the factions involved. He confirmed that the Hûk to the east was not massing troops along the river. He did have barges, more every day, but they weren’t arrayed to take on troops in the quantity to hold a beachhead while waiting for reinforcements. Wise observers on this side thought he might be biding his time against weakness in the city.

Hûk Sakûn’s problem was Gizar fanatics creeping closer on the east side of the Chelkar. Both tyrants were on the eastern or northern side of their respective rivers meaning there was nothing between them except the desire not to get bloody over useless ground. That province still belonged to Amrûn, but less than adequate force was posted and they would already have one foot their own barges. That was a murderous crossing as the two rivers joined so no place for ambitious Hûks to plan an assault. Still, if they met without combat, it signaled they were in-league.

After such a stimulating preamble, it got better; Zondro explained, “Force of arms isn’t the only gremlin tugging at shirttails. One of the Kel-Lord’s sons had dealings with the eastern clans. Another of about the same age has visited Tulbar. Each has nominal command of two thousand infantry on those respective borders. There are other sons but they do not figure into the defense of the city. Grain stores are good. The Kel-Lord could withstand siege for fully a season. But so could those surrounding the fortress. It would only be a matter of time.”

Telgrin knew his oats, “A matter of time when western powers took this more seriously.”

Zondro, who was becoming friendlier with his opposite number, agreed, “Right you are. A year of siege here would alert our respective Lords that this was more than Swertings spitting at each other. If Tulbar crosses, I think he leaves a skeleton force here to keep Ongaruth from breaking out and moves downriver.”

Demeltha, cautious after his sorcerous trip through the Ghalibatu, wondered aloud, “And what keeps Sakûn from helping himself after Tulbar seeks greatness on the upper bank? That solves lots of problems for our beloved Ancalimon, for a time.”

Zondro mulled that, “He still has to get his troops across. He might more easily cross the Harnen instead for a leisurely stroll to our lands. No, nothing is solved. But the reason I wondered about this black stone is that it is used to communicate with these antagonists. It may well be what keeps them apart. There aren’t many other reasons two of the three haven’t come to blows. Consider for a moment what tidings might steer them more towards our interests.”

That was a mouthful, and they all knew it. 

Sorcery from bygone days! They all looked at their sorcerer. This was his Catanard. It was the reason they were here; men of Ghondor, men of Mírlond, men of Ancalimon. He began as always, “Ambassador Zondro is correct. We will not storm the Ghalibatu by ourselves, brave men though you are. The weight of force moves against us. Enemies are like the water rushing down these tracks. They mass here at the confluence and must break out. Which way effects us differently. There is more I must know, Ambassador Zondro. What does the Kel-Lord wish?”

“I can only surmise, Mr. Solvanth. Demeltha and I spoke after he returned from your outing. I think he tries to play the Hûks against each other, perhaps in concert with the houlars. With the barbarians accumulating men like raging waters, as you aptly said, what was once the unrivaled capital of these folk is now the weak sister. In his best world, Tulbar and Sakûn hurl themselves against each other on the far side of the river and threaten no one.”

Sorcerers shouldn’t be allowed to grin! Yet, theirs did. He stretched his long legs and said, “Let me tell you a story…

“This orb has power, intelligence, anticipation. It is not of your world. The woman who investigated my little outrage was not the queen-bee, but she has speaking power through the object and confirmed the disturbance of humors with her field-houlars. Let us assume, with all the dangers assumption brings, that these ladies do not wish to be slain or overseen by unwashed Swertings any more than the Kel-Lord. In the unequal game of Dukks before us, they are our partners. And as esteemed Counselor Zondro wisely said, we need the Hûks busy on the far bank.”

Crewmen expected him to stop, as he often did, to let others carry the conversation. Unlike what they had seen, he continued, “Now, I had better explain myself. I am the last, well, probably the last of the wizards of Middle-earth. You have seen some powers and heard of others. I am not to be feared by friends.” He let that hang a moment for people to decide if they were really friends. “I can speak through their stone as well. First I need to learn the houlars’ minds – one in particular.”

Wizards should never grin! “Then we are going to steal that stone.”


	36. A Fiendish Plot

**_Chapter 36_ **

**_A Fiendish Plot_ **

****

Why had their mothers borne them?! Was their end to be gutted in a warag pit below the Ghalibatu without trace? As the horrifying creature told them, this was not a trifle one could palm past a stall vendor. It was on the top of a bloody tower of evil! That sentiment was reduced, ever so slightly, when the Elf-god announced he would speak with the Kel-Lord, alone. If he walked into a spear, they would sail home.

Late that night Kel-Lord Ongaruth had an unexpected guest. The man was sitting in his study, alone, sorting his thoughts. He did not read or write, but he had a system of notations his retainers could follow. From behind him came a voice soft, yet clear. It was soothing. Ongaruth did not jump in surprise. 

A vision floated towards him, surrounded by a mist of silver saying slowly, “Do not raise the alarm. I am not truly here. I am a spirit of the old ways, returned to help those I can, those who deserve it. What must happen to save your city?”

Even Kel-Lords believe in ghosts and spirits. He wasn’t drunk or daft so this apparition should be fairly considered. The man looked at the mist trying to recognize the soft, youthful face. He couldn’t. After another moment’s thought he replied, “The northern general must remain on the east bank of the Chelkar. The two must settle their differences there.”

“What of your sons?”

“They have cast their lots. Only the fourth grown boy has merit, and my little ones.”

The spirit grew more dangerous, “Is he your chosen successor?”

“Not yet.”

“Will the Order Houloch aid?”

“In the end; no. They know my position is weak. They favor Tulbar, hoping for grace if he conquers.”

The ghost asked, “If you could make them, what would you have the witches say?”

“Sow discord between the two Hûks. Convince them the other seeks their destruction.”

The floating voice became more focused; “Tomorrow remove all of the Houloch guards, here and in the streets. If the houlars favor your enemy, they have no leverage. When they come to you for protection, the price is for them to tell each Hûk that the other wishes to speak with him for the final assault. They meet in the old ruins across the river with no more than two thousand men.

“Have those you would see survive flee with your fourth son to the west, quietly, soon. You must challenge at the northern ford. Tell the spiders you will not betray their intrigues … for now.”

Ongaruth wasn’t Lord for being a coward. He confronted the undead man of mist, “I take a great deal on faith, demon of old. What trust can I have in your deliverance?”

“None. I will shelter them if I can. I may return. Do not speak of this.”

He was gone. The Kel-Lord could not be sure this wasn’t a dream. Perhaps he wished so much for his family name that he imagined. His life would not last much longer in any event. No, even if this was fantasy, it was as good an offer as he would get. 

Ongaruth thought about pulling his guardi from the houlars. But he didn’t think long. In the morning two of the ladies started their climb and found no one outside their door. Two stories from the top, a pair of women leaving discovered the same thing. The barracks were empty. They scurried downstairs as fast as their billowing garments allowed to find the main sanctum was undefended. 

Niefahra and Branathae were standing in the entry hall calmly discussing the situation. They had lost favor with the Kel-Lord. It had happened before. This felt different. It was as though the man accepted his fate. Others who sought to harm them were burned or confused. Yes, this was different.

The Mistress spoke to her second, “Seek an audience with the Kel-Lord to ask why he abandoned us.” She was not upset. They were still in the castle and away from those who might wish them ill, if they even knew the houlars’ ancient role. The women had their own stores and kitchen so they weren’t waiting on sustenance. 

“At once, Mistress.”

“Promise nothing. Accept nothing. The man is negotiating. Hear his terms. We will guard ourselves until they are acceptable.” The old sorceress thought a moment and added, “And see if the man is bewitched. We sense new humors. The stone is unsettled. Perhaps invisible hands manipulate events.”

Ongaruth didn’t grant an audience immediately. He let the Assistant Mistress stew in the anteroom, an unfamiliar position. Then she was brought in and told to sit in the man’s study, new ground for Branathae. The aging Kel-Lord walked in and dismissed his guards, also uncharted. He sat and growled, “Speak.”

“I am sent by my Mistress to find why we have lost favor, esteemed Kel-Lord.”

“It is because you aid the Chelkar Hûk against your rightful liege. If he succeeds, you will answer to the mob.”

That was a clean stroke. He didn’t have to risk anything. If he was deposed, the citizenry would settle scores with collaborators long before allies could reach the city. There might be adherents of Sakûn who would like to put-paid to these lasses as well. None of this was new to Branathae but she adopted a face of virtuous shock. “That is untrue, Excellency! We are always your abject subjects. What can we do to prove our loyalty?”

“Call to each Hûk. Say each wants to meet the other in the old ruins. They are to bring no more than two thousand men.”

“Excellency, we are but helpless women! How could we hope to affect such warriors?”

“Those are my terms. You asked to prove your fealty. Do so and I will reconsider your plight.”

The sorceress bowed her head in obeisance saying, “I will present your conditions to the Mistress, most high.”

“You do that.”

Branathae was sure Niefahra would be incensed but the old lady considered the situation and said, “Fine. We can work with that. I want to know if Tulbar has the brains to match his thunder. This might tell. Two thousand troops? Such a curious number. Not large enough to fight. Too large to scout. The Kel-Lord wants them making noise. Very well. Make the call at the Hour of Speaking. Inform his Excellency we agree when you hear the result.” 

At mid-morning Nag Kath felt the pulse, this time sent east and north. So, she did have a voice in Sakûn’s camp. 

That night Nag Kath made another late visit to the foreboding castle. This time for Prince Frandulf. The man never knew. As he slept, dreams of lordship and grandeur were visited upon him by whatever godlings supervise such speaking. Yes, his time was nigh. Yes, Sakûn would finally use his superior force to crush the northern fanatic and place Frandulf on the Kel-throne!

The same voice, “One small problem; your inheritance is in peril! Perfidious Tulbar sends assassins to ambush Sakûn, leaving the way open for the northern scum to invest your rightful city and install your brother. You must send Sakûn word, through trustworthy sources, that Tulbar’s offer to meet is a hoax, a pretext for murder!”

Frandulf woke in a sweat. Usually he would send for a servant girl to take away his anxiety. Tonight he called for his faithful vassal to cross the Chelkar at first light and ride through his personal corps like the wind to the camp of Hûk Sakûn. 

It wasn’t until late the next day that faint pulses came to the far-speakers of the Ghalibatu. The Elf could now translate them. Both tyrants and their ‘honor guard’ broke camp that morning. Given the terrain and distance, that put them four days away from the once-grand sister capital of Amrûn-Kom. Word was sent to Ongaruth that his will was honored. He replied that the guardi would be back at their posts in the morning. 

In the meantime the marines and several of both crews prepared. Ropes, weapons and garments were readied for a late-night visit to the top of the north Tower. It was good for warriors to act like it after lolling in dock watching women sashay by. 

Crewmen Banshall and Houldis got unenviable labor as manure merchants, accumulating stable-droppings for the gardens and fields of the western delta. Overpaying to enter this worthy venture got them a stout wagon and an ox to pull it. Their job was to store steaming heaps of feculent goodness beneath one of the downspouts on the north face of the interior fortress. They had to bribe a pair of street-guardi for the privilege. Neighbors didn’t appreciated that, but one good rain and it would be washed away to serve the fools right!

Tilion’s moon would be near full. Good for light in the castle but not for silhouettes against the sky. Nag Kath considered his powers. Coming as a vision to the Kel-Lord struck him as the worst sort of hoax. It was a light confusion spell enhanced with a plain silver haze. Perhaps that was how the real wizards did it! 

It didn’t matter. After the ice-cavern, he thought of himself as a wizard. Gandalf never pretended not to be. Saruman? There was no telling what he thought but Gandalf said he took himself much more seriously than the other two. Saruman certainly used his powers to great effect and didn’t care who knew. It was too late to ask.

Gate guards on the northern doors were suddenly stupid for a few moments while a dozen men in palace livery walked through with practiced arrogance, skipping over lumps falling from the honey-cart just ahead. Three slowly played at shoveling compost while the other nine disappeared into an unused side entrance on the interior wall that someone left unlocked. 

From here it was five stories up with no windows so the Elf provided a silver glow to help with the narrow treads. From the sixth to the thirteenth they had to sneak. Part of their preparations was sewing soft leather to their boot soles. All metal was cushioned with heurzis padding. 

At high-night only guards were awake, and not all of them. Nag Kath confused one actually doing his duty. Telgrin had to put his knife into another’s throat when he woke. Once past the noble apartments no one actually lived in this part of the fortress. Why the houlars put their stone up here was anyone’s guess. 

At eleventh level, Sarn’t Timmons group lit one of their torches and forked left up an abandoned stairwell. It had been walled-three feet up centuries ago to drain rainwater from the catwalks above. Nag Kath wished them well and the remaining five made haste to arrive wordlessly through the empty barracks up-top. 

From here they had to get through the unguarded auxiliary hoular quarters directly below the stone. With luck the ladies would be asleep too. A bringing spell lifted the door bar on the inside and held it suspended until Ro-Jardïn could lay it on the floor. This was territory unknown. The large room was for dining and gathering, perhaps study. The houlars had a separate dormitory but there were several of their servants and the servants’ children sleeping here or scattered around a substantial suite of rooms. The staircase up to the top was across the floor.

They nearly made it. 

A young woman woke with the sound and saw shadows moving against the gray wall. She screamed that ghosts were besetting them. Candles weren’t lit until the intruders had scurried up the stairs behind a pale silver glow and out the top-hatch. Once aloft, Nag Kath created a wider silver light and two of the torches were lit. Mottosh slipped the bar in place from their side and locked the catch-pawl against sorcery or a shim slipped between the planks. 

Nag Kath walked to the orb and placed both hands on it, staring into the depths of blackness. With both hands he felt the power flowing from one arm to the other. It was then that the changeling’s extraordinary luck paid a dividend. An ancient wrinkled face appeared. “So, you have returned, fell-servant of the Eye!”

What was the hag talking about?! He kept silent hoping she would tip her hand. She did, “I remember you from the war, in white, fussing and probing. How did you survive?”

How indeed?! Was she thinking of Saruman? Nag Kath’s blonde hair was about the same length. Saruman was certainly hip-deep in intrigues with Sauron. Nag Kath declared, “Our master merely waits, as he has for long years. I see you have kept faith.”

This was no blind worshiper. She barked, “Failure and accursed! You have great nerve to show yourself here after the calamity of the Ghondor! This will be put right presently!” 

Nag Kath helped gloved-soldiers give the stone a mighty heave into a stout fishing net. That was carried to a low spot between two crenels and dropped down to the waiting crew standing well to the side. It smashed on an outer walk with what seemed a deafening crack but there were no whistles from the foot-guardi below. Timmon’s lads grabbed the netting and hauled the rock sixty feet further north before rolling it in the drain culvert carved from a former stairwell. 

Like the child’s game making a marble reach the end of a course, it rolled, bounced and careened off walls inside the lumpy tower until making its way out the gutter-spout and down to the fresh heap of steaming manure. Banshall and Houldis along with three more of the crew heard the ‘splut’ and hurried over to extract the black pearl from its oyster. Their ox wasn’t pleased with all of this, but he slowly took his new load towards the outer gate – wardens opening it to assist this reeking civic need.

It was time to go. Mottosh pried the catch loose and the five villains started down the steps expecting the only resistance to be servants and old ladies. 

They were wrong on a pair of counts. A half-troop of the usual guards came up for the high-night shift ahead of schedule for better dinner than below. Hearing the ruckus, their swords were drawn and three had bows. They fired into the shadows. Telgrin got an arrow in the lung. Piersall took one in the eye. 

Nag Kath dodged one aimed at him before grabbing Telgrin by the hair and dragging him back inside the houlars’ quarters. Ro-Jardïn waited until Telgrin’s feet cleared the threshold and slammed the door-bar down. Mottosh shimmed the catch behind him.

The second error was that the old woman was already up here. She rounded the corner in a dressing robe with an attendant and screamed, “ **Deceiver!** ”

Nag Kath leaned the Ambassador against wall and glanced over at the Mistress. By now there were at least fifteen people scattered about the room, mostly servants and their children, but a few of the houlars were rousted by the upset. 

The Elf couldn’t tell one old lady from another by candle-light and looked back at Telgrin who was still breathing. He handed Mottosh the little horn and said, “Quickly, upstairs and give this one long blow. Then get back down here.”

Mottosh looked around and countered, “How about the window?”

“Even better.”

Mistress Niefahra shambled closer to the trapped westerners finally stopping and declaring over the blare of the horn, “So, you come to destroy my stone! It will take stouter than you, pretty boy.”

She didn’t know it was gone! Good! And she didn’t see Saruman in this face. That was enough to maintain the charade. Nag Kath reverted to his junior halfwit role and shouted back in anguish, “Sakûn told us it would crumble against our hammers! What evil spell keeps it whole?!”

The woman paid him no mind, ordering her minions, “Open that door for our protectors.” Ro and Mottosh drew their swords with their backs against the planks. They didn’t want to chop-up women, but they certainly would to buy time against the soldiers outside. 

When her ladies balked, Niefahra decided to first deal with the would-be destroyer, never thinking the dimwit was ‘the Kath’. The Mistress spun and threw a terrible fire spell directly at him. That was her error. He had seen that spell before with Chievon – where it came from and the magical force behind it. He knew how to block it and the weakness it opened in the thrower. His ward was the shape of a wedge, not unlike the bridge pillars he designed to fend off flood-logs. The wave split cleanly, wrapping around the room and burning a number of the civilians. And like with Chievon, a bringing spell would slice right through it.

Niefahra was slung violently across the room into the stone wall, across to the opposite wall and back again almost in the blink of an eye. There would be no fond farewells or famous last words. She was a bloody pile of meat peeling in pieces off the rock. The changeling threw a modest fire spell at the mess to make sure she wasn’t faking. 

The exertion gave him the Elf-Lord countenance and a glow of silver like the most famous of Elves. Servants and witches alike stared and started murmuring; ‘The Kath’! Some broke down sure he was here to visit terrible wrath on the houlars and their helpers. That could wait. The changeling scurried over to Telgrin who had opened his eyes and seen the violence.

“Good work, My Lord.” He tried to spit but the blood just ran down his chin. “That was the spider?”

“If not we’re in big trouble.”

In the armies of the Anduin, it was considered good fortune to die a soldier’s death and be alert at the end to give final instructions. “I heard the horn.”

“Aye. Looks like we wait now.”

Telgrin wheezed without seeming to breathe, finally muttering, “Justine, my maid, care for her, will you?” The man’s mouth barely moved but there was a hint of humor in the eyes, “Looks like I don’t have to think of something to do when … w w …”

Nag Kath eased him down on the slates. In the meantime, the servants and houlars just stared at their bubbling Mistress and none made any movement towards the defended door. A few went back to their quarters to shout for help from the windows. One heavy sleeper wandered out with bleary eyes now wide open. 

They all expected to die. This was a fearsome incarnation of Ohrloach, deceiver and scourge of Harad, bringer of defeat and all-around bad-sort. He stood up straight and asked, “Who of you is in charge now?”

A small, thin woman in black took a few steps forward and declared with courage, “I am Hamunari, Stewardess of the Stone Floors. I beseech you to spare our loyal servants. They are here at our sufferance.” She bowed and waited.

Nag Kath was about to speak when they heard axes hacking at the outside doors. He waved the marine and sailor away and sent a massive confusion spell bouncing like light through the threshold. The pounding stopped. Walking closer he spoke in the Elf-Lord voice with a hint of Gandalf’s projection in the mix, “Behind this door lies fear and pain. You dare not breach it! Rest now from your toil until I release you.”

He would have to keep doing that as fresh men arrived from the lower floors or the spell wore-off. That only took a minute so he walked back to the resolute Stewardess and demanded, “What was your name again?”

“Hamunari, Fell Lord of Mordor.”

Mordor?! These Southrons got those stories all backward. Maybe Mordor and Gondor was the same thing to survivors in the river-valleys. “Awright! Who got burned?”

The fire houlars were generally unharmed. Some of the servants had rosy cheeks but hair and garments took the worst of the ricochet. The healer walked among them holding one of their candles and applied skin-spells to soothe. 

It was time to work. Nag Kath walked over to the door-guards and said softly, “We stall as long as we can. See if you can get a look at the harbor.”

Mottosh sheathed his weapon and ran to where he had a good sense of the south side. Below were a half-company of guardi staring up by torchlight with bows in hand. Further out to the river he saw what might be a bow-lamp already pushed-off and turning with the current. He walked back and nodded as slightly as only the Umbari can. 

Hamunari hadn’t moved a muscle. What was this curious demon? Might he compel some foul, soul-stealing labor? What he had in mind wasn’t so onerous, “See if you can find us some food and take care of your wounds. We may be together a while.”

____________--------___________

Half a bell later a new gang of soldiers tried their hand at chopping the doors. They wouldn’t get far. There was a sheet of steel between the planks for exactly this reason – even if the bad ‘uns were supposed to be breaking-in, not holding-out. They didn’t even get that far when new curses slowed them to dithering. Some smart lad started stuffing rags under the door to stop the sorcery. Nag Kath fired something through the remaining gap to send them running for the chamber pots. 

When the houlars realized these men weren’t here to disembowel them, they stepped a bit lighter. Two junior novices still in gray washed Telgrin’s face and hands with a scented towel. One looked to the Elf who nodded that they could break the arrow off at the skin before covering the slain warrior. Then it was just a matter of keeping inside until the Manticore was well quit of these shores. The ship was chosen, in part, because it was fast and could tack against the prevailing breeze when the square-rigged galleys could not. A two-hour head-start and nothing could touch them. 

Hamunari must have got the wind up because half a bell later, a rather sumptuous meal was laid before the three invaders. A discreet silver hand verified it wasn’t cursed. Nag Kath ignored the pork but the rest was edible. Ro and Mottosh wiped their plates.

It seemed no time at all but the day dawned in splendor. This was the north side of the north tower so it was well past daybreak before these rooms caught the light. The Elf peeped out the windows quickly against an archer firing at just the right time. There were soldiers where they dropped the rock. That was an outer walk abandoned when the fortress added another wall fifty paces further out. The place was more like a termite nest than noble palaces the changeling had drawn. At the southernmost window, a little dot on the water was the Manticore. The rough plan was that if they weren’t pursued, Capt’n would lay up at Ihrig-el for a fortnight. Two blasts on the horn meant to keep going.

Even if he didn’t intend to torture them, Nag Kath thought he’d better ask a few questions. The eight houlars in the room and two hiding under their bunks were arrayed on soft cushions in the main salon while the servants and their small children (the only ones allowed) stayed in the back rooms with orders not to cry terror to troops on the ground. 

In his best Sarn’t Dedlan; “Awright; who was the woman who attacked me?”

A plump, opinionated hoular proclaimed, “She was Niefahra, Mistress of our Order.”

“Old and powerful, yes?”

“One hundred and seventy-one. Keeper of the stone almost all of that.”

Older than him! “And what kept her alive so long?”

Another woman who had been in tears an hour before answered, “She was chosen of the Eye! He imbued her with long-life and great insight.”

SAURON! Aragorn told him plenty about the Eye! “And which of you takes her place?”

That was a less comfortable question. A glower around the faces garnered a squeak from the back, “Mistress Branathae is head of our far-speakers.” With no far-speaking going on at all, Nag Kath wondered who would even know the stone was on its way west. Another glower provoked, “She is not among us.”

Groats to Florins she was outside the door wondering what made the guardi retch on the flagstones. That was the only door in here … or was it? He called the two men over and whispered in Westron that they should have a look for former entrances that had been bricked-over in the Ghalibatu’s halting growth. They nodded and started looking for weak places for soldiers to storm or that they could punch-through to escape. That yielded nothing.

As it happened, the new Mistress was outside and called to her sisters. The men watched their audience freeze. Nag Kath heard it too, and understood. She was inquiring of Niefahra and was told she was slain. The next question was about the stone; ‘was it whole?’

Most of them reported the tall blonde fiend said the despoilers failed to destroy it. The third question was if they were well, enslaved or defiled. That answer was generally no, with a few outrages. 

Very well. This needn’t go on much longer. Nag Kath sent his own message and waited for the sorceress on the outside to respond. He simply said ‘I would speak with the Kel-Lord.”

What he got was a haughty demand that he release her sisters at once. Maybe then Kel-Lord Ongaruth would deign to hear his dying petition. So she thought she would get the upper-hand, did she? With a wave of his hand, a yellow cloud of confusion misted down on the heads of the Order Houloch’s senior stone-speakers. 

Confusing confusers isn’t easy. It was only effective enough to keep them from yakking with their new chief in the hallway.

But no one missed the point. If the lady outside was mind-speaking with her adherents, she must think the rock was still upstairs. That was exactly what the night-raiders needed. Either she would tell the Kel-Lord or not. He guessed she would since only he had soldiers to break in and settle with these arrogant Numenoreans before they sacrificed her sisters to their repugnant gods.

The crewmen sat on the floor with Nag Kath and had a grand time swapping yarns with a few gregarious hoular-women, although most scowled at the creature who had slain both their Mistress and the powerful adept in the debauched White City. They knew very little of men, so even mild tales of faraway lands were goggling. 

One of the distraught ladies to the rear was much larger than her sisters. With the advantage of good light, Nag Kath walked to her and said, “Please, miss, remove your shawl.” Dark eyes searched her sisters for support. Getting the barest nod she slowly pulled her veil back.

Nag Kath took a close look and offered a common greeting of Lake Nennûrad in Variag, “The sun shines brightly on blue water.” 

The hoular could have been pulled from the body-healers last week. She was frightened, not understanding. Was this a curse?

He rose and said in Haradric, “Bless you.”

It made sense. That blood, along with sorcery, would have escaped Khand over the centuries. 

Returning to his cushion the Elf steered the story back to the lamented Mistress and how she was chosen by Sauron to speak his will to far-flung Harad and Umbar provinces. After twenty minutes of that, one of the novices, who seemed to fancy the handsome Ro-Jardïn, asked, “Best of sirs, how did you enter the stone to confuse our Mistress?”

He had no idea. Perhaps some element of Saruman was still in his body. He was about to admit as much when she continued with a tale everyone here had heard many times, “Yes, when you became an old man and told our lost Mistress to delay the invasion.”

Huh? With as much gravitas as he could muster the dimwitted sorcerer held his chin, “I cannot recall that deed.”

“That you came to Mistress Niefahra in the stone and commanded her to halt the Eye’s southern armies. They came to the battle late without food.”

The Elf wanted to hear the rest of this. Some of the houlars were staring daggers into the novice but she was near the front and didn’t see the sisters avoiding his sorcery against the wall. As if recalling an unimportant detail, “Hmmm, let me see … an old man?”

Another hoular in full black added, “She said you were bald with very good teeth.”

ORLO! Not Saruman at all. You fooled them here too! How splendid! 

“Oh, yes, I remember now. It was a common spell.”

Under the smile, Nag Kath was gnawed by doubt about the end of Sauronic totems. Was there no end of them? The Shûran had a dragon under his concubines! Probably dead … but … why did the water seeth?


	37. Rat in the Jewel

**Chapter 37**

**Rat in the Jewel**

As the day wore on, servants were back out cooking, sewing and even managing a spot of cleaning. The Mistress was scraped into a box. Nag Kath did not re-administer the spell of confusion. That was to send a message and now he wanted these sensitive souls listening that the Liege of Harad was interested. 

That could be awkward. The last the Kel-Lord heard was from a misty apparition of ancient power instructing him to have the tyrants meet just across the river. He would not know that his third son sent a warning to Sakûn that Tulbar meant him ill. Now Ongaruth would learn that getting rid of the standing guardi was to raid the houlars and murder their Mistress!

That wasn’t part of either of their plans. The Elf supposed ridding the realm of a treacherous witch was probably to the good. But she had been counselor to his kind for a hundred and sixty years, forged in blood with considerable success. 

There was also how this exchange was to be handled. These fascinating women could still talk to each other. Was that because the stone was still in Middle-earth? The Witch-stone rang-forth its malice from Angmar to Miraz. This one was bigger and conveyed the word of Sauron himself! No matter. Whatever power it wielded, it was sailing away from the River-Hûks.

As the Evenstar rose to join sunset, Branathae send the hail that his Excellency was outside the door. A half-troop was still posted where the rock landed so he couldn’t lower his men down. The three raiders decided Nag Kath would walk outside and take whatever was coming. Since Ro and Mottosh couldn’t hold-out without him, they would follow if he wasn’t stabbed. Ro slipped the bar and the door swung wide.

A host of the Kel-Lord’s best was bristling with halberds poised. Nag Kath came out first and handed his Elvish blade to the nearest soldier. The other two did the same. Not glowing and now smeared with Telgrin’s blood, he was not the spirit from their last encounter. 

Ongaruth was getting on in years and would not have made this climb for any other reason. The three bowed and Nag Kath asked, “It goes as foreseen?”

“Yes, they are but a day apart.”

“Then we have much to discuss.”

Ongaruth considered that a moment and then nodded to the tall hoular fretting for her ladies and their stone. She walked inside as quickly as dignity allowed surrounded by her adherents. Then she raced up the stairs.

“AUGHHHH! Curses and torments be upon you!”

Never one to take without giving, Nag Kath left his largest uncut diamond on the plinth where the stone sat all those years. It was about the size of a quail egg. The jewel had a large fault inside. Had it been the figure of a dragon it would have been worth much more. This was closer to a rat, but he could never bring himself to have it split into three or four perfect jewels.

The effect was as wished. Given his reputation as defiler of all things Sauron, the hoular and the higher witches believed ‘the Kath’ had cursed their beloved orb, reducing it to this magnificent jewel. In it he imbued a strong spell of his presence but no true power. Feeling the humor made it that much harder to imagine that these coarse river-pirates heaved their Precious into a pile of stinking ox dougsh to sail away without pursuit. This diamond was still of vast value – not something an ordinary thief would leave as compensation.

That didn’t soothe the new Mistress of Houloch. She stamped down the stairs and held the diamond in her palm shouting, “You have undone us! We are at the mercy of men!”

Ah, that explained something. With all his will bent on not grinning like farm-boy, the Elf said gravely, “It has become as it was before the dark days, now the hardest, clearest and most perfect stone of Middle-earth. I leave it here for your use.”

Despite his impending destruction in battle, Ongaruth wondered, “What have you there?”

She opened her palm again but did not hand it to him. He looked, muttered to himself and gazed at the captives. “Come with me.”

They walked silently down the dimly-lit fortress until reaching the main building. Turning left brought them to bowing guards at the noble apartments. Even with his status and wealth, the place looked like Orthanc on a rainy day. It wasn’t until they reached his quarters that trappings suggested lordship.

Guards surrounded the thieves of the Manticore while handmen brought his Excellency a large mug of wine. There were two other, older soldiers already in the room who bowed and watched. Ongaruth sighed and told the Captain of the Guard they were dismissed. That was unexpected but the officer did as told so it was just the three Amrûns and the three shipmates. The Kel-Lord said, “Sit.” And everyone did.

It is always the ruler’s turn to speak. He didn’t leave them waiting, “The Hûks converge on a flat site north of the ruins. It offers little cover and long sight-lines for scouts.” He managed a modest smile, “Birds chirp that both exceeded two-thousand retainers.”

Nag Kath looked at the hard counselors, men who had no future under either of the Hûks or the Kel-Lord’s older sons. They had served what, for here, were long lives at the top of their profession. They would leave that way. 

The Elf did not share the smile, “I, em, persuaded your son Frandulf to warn Sakûn that his opposite number plots against his life.”

Ongaruth tossed his head back to look at the ceiling. “Yes, yes, I know. Not all of my sons’ servants are in their sole employ. Fran is on his way cross-river to deliver those tidings himself. Second son has a like message for Tulbar. Without you and the witches, I could have never have made them split their armies to fight over that rock-heap.”

“If they fight.”

“Yes, if they fight. My legion started fording home at first light. As you well know, Kath of the Trolls, my only hope is to catch Tulbar’s remaining army at the ford below the Vramish cataracts. It is still five to my three. There are worse ways to die.”

Nag Kath had to ask, “And your fourth son, Excellency?”

“The reason I left you waiting was to get him, my wives and concubine on their way west. He did not want to leave. With him go three hundred of my best troops and their families. On his way he shall order my loyal subjects to follow him, bringing every grain of gureeq just pulled from the earth. The next capital of Amrûn will be Ihrig-el in the finger valleys. It has protected my house before.”

Ongaruth took a deep breath. “I hope our new Duneishda friends recall how to ship steel along the Harnen again. I will need ours upriver. Now, what about you; spirit of the last age?”

“We have transportation, thank you.”

The men were given their swords and a discreet escort out the west gate of the Ghalibatu. Ro-Jardïn took one look at the manure cart and ox next to the empty ship berth and announced, “Mottosh, you get the back.” 

_____________--------____________

Ihrig-el would be the capital port of New Amrûn. Neither were much now, but with that narrow pass along the coast just downriver, infantry would have their hands full against an organized defense. Dranchu the ox kept his plodding pace at no risk of catching the fleeing noble family. On the bright side, under the fertilizer were carefully-wrapped loaves and cheese. It took six days to reach Ihrig-el with the Manticore glistening in the sun.

Zondro, Nag Kath and Demeltha took a half-dozen of the lads into town for refreshments and a look around. Zondro, especially, needed to learn what he could of the fortress. In a quick council they chose not to impose on the recently arrived nobles whose survival depended on how things went up the Chelkar.

Then it was the effortless trip back to Ancalimon. If you knew the Harnen, you always had a good current regardless of the wind. Sail-Master Khombu used the flows he avoided on the way up and the Manticore docked five days after casting off.

Unknown to them, Elder Sister Meriat of the Mírlond sanctum had been called upriver just before the stone was cruelly transformed. Her sail/galley passed the expedition a day before they reached Ancalimon. She had received no further instructions but that was unimportant. Miriat had not been to the Ghalibatu in four years and it was time to exchange tidings. 

Shûran Imbraer welcomed the returning warriors graciously. Zondro and Demeltha explained what they knew. The Hûks were face-to-face with serious differences but there had been no reports of large-scale fighting. Shûsanshie Hambora occasionally heard voices. She was much more interested in horses. Alas, they missed the regional races. 

___________-------____________

Pushing off the dock after a relaxing week in Ancalimon, the crew waved goodbye to their honored comrades and retraced their steps in the Manticore, a gift from the grateful Shûsan. 

The stone remained wrapped in burlap, buried in a pile of straw below-deck. Nag Kath felt it. Sometimes Ro-Jardïn sensed a pulse. It brushed his shin when they rolled the orb off the plinth but did not burn. No one else seemed the worse for their cargo. 

The Manticore skipped Ramlond and made directly for Mírlond. The Elf wandered by the houlars’ brown house, chuckling that he could give them a good jolt by the laying of hands in the cargo hold. Ubier was fine but for a little gout. Nag Kath helped him with the pain.

There had been precious little information from Umbar. Presumably, Hembree was ensconced as emissary from the court of Telcontar. Ambassador Rendolan would send a full report of the incursion with the next transport. For their part, the crew and marines carefully packaged their ominous rock in a padded crate and hoisted it out of the hold. From there it was loaded on Man’s Best Hope, a sea-going ship hired on short notice by the Mírlond Authority. With goodbyes and best wishes, they drifted into the current with the tide.

While the northerlings were arranging transportation, Sister Meriat reached Amrûn to great wailing and upset. A powerful hoular, she joined Mistress Branathae and her senior witches to examine what was left of their once proud speaking-stone, now a beautiful gem of unknown power radiating the foul spirit of their white foe. They upgraded the interior flaw from a rat to a pig. Her sisters told her of the Ohrloach, in the guise of a blonde, youthful Kath, here to beset their peoples yet again!

Meriat made a face and wondered, “Wait. Tall, witless young Duneishda with a long-handled sword?”

“Aye, as fierce a monster as grim stories say!”

The visiting hoular grinned a crooked grin, “Menhat gave him a large dose of Lostorin in Mírlond before the haiam spell. With the right …”

Branathae took the bait, “Yes, YES! Defiler of Niefahra, mother to us all! DECEIVER!! I will settle you proper!”

It might take every ounce of power she had left in this world. Spells can be given great potency if the cursing drains permanent humors in the body. This was worth it! She clutched the rat diamond cast with the creature’s own magic and imagined the noisome Kath as if he stood before them. Slowly weaving back and forth, she cast an abomination, a foul conjuring sure to wither the man’s private jewels like raisins!

Nag Kath felt a little queasy for a moment. Ubier’s cook’s cat had been neutered as a youngster to keep him from spraying the lavender plants. He never noticed.


	38. Souvenir

**_Chapter 38_ **

**_Souvenir_ **

Sarn’t Timmons led the crew below the north tower that had to drag Sauron’s stone across the walk and toss it down the drain-spout. They scuttled halfway behind it before leaping over the diversion wall and coming down the western stairs like all the regular soldiers after their shift. He still couldn’t believe the racket hadn’t woken every sentry in the fortress. Evidently rocks fell off the Ghalibatu all the time.

That’s why he was more amazed than anyone when the evil stone was hauled on deck for a closer look. It didn’t have a scratch. There was hope it would be destroyed when it hit but instead it cracked a two-ton slate. Crewman Poliash held his torch for them all to see before dashing down the wall-walk. 

On deck, Timmons eased behind the unnerving blonde Lord and muttered, “Deep water. Do we heave it over the side?”

“I wondered about that. It might still work down there. This is the fourth time I’ve had a weapon of the enemy in my grasp. The first and third I destroyed. The second I presented to the King; who chose wisely. I shall do the same for this. There is something about it that is not foreboding – more a sense that it is simply a tool of the hand that guides.”

Men gathered around, some closer than others. All the marines, along with a few from Mírlond wondered what unfathomable forces ancient gods wielded before the sailors’ grandfathers walked the earth. On a lark, Nag Kath placed his hands on the surface. The orb instantly glowed silver, his own color this time. In it he saw a treasure room, dark, but visible, with neatly stacked boxes bearing the dual seal of Gondor and Arnor waxed on the clasps. His view inside the stone seemed as if he was sheltering his eyes with his hands beside his head against bright sun. Was the treasure a harbinger of some future reward?

No, such things held no sway over the Elf. The image melted away along with the glow. He took his hands off, looking at the palms while the lads rolled it back in the box and jammed the straw in tight.

Water was low in the Ethir. Nag Kath wished his Mírlond escort well in Pelargir and loaded the stone and his marines on the Water Skipper III for the trip to Rammas. With low flow and little breeze, it was a dull seven days. Timmons let his lads go to their families with strict orders not to mention anything magical. There were tales enough of daring-do. Ro-Jardïn lived in Osgiliath but he was pressed into service as a handman after the square crate was loaded on a Rammas pony-cart for the trip to the tower.

The Elf was in his best surviving apparel but didn’t stop by his house on the fourth for better togs – figuring he would change at the seventh after kisses from his lady fair. No such luck. Under-Chamberlain Brontë met the two ruffians at the seventh gate and it would not do until the King was told of their return!

The man was in such a state that he didn’t consider the overawed carter nervously hauling a load of straw. Nag Kath murmured quietly, “This package needs special delivery, good sir.”

Understanding dawned and he gestured two starched pikemen over for Nag Kath to say, “Please take this carter and his charge to the royal armory.”

The men snapped-to sharply and were off, hugging the south-sixth surround. 

Visiting his lonely bride would have to wait. Word reached King Eldarion that his brother-in-law had returned and he walked down to the entrance himself, amazing the supplicants queued-up for administration. 

“Nag Kath, you old scoundrel! Welcome back!”

After deep bows, “Sire, may I introduce marine Ro-Jardïn, hero of our recent adventure?”

The King shook his hand as if a dear friend saying, “Thank you for your care, defender of Gondor. It is always appreciated.”

The voluble Ro was stricken silent but managed a secondary bow at the honor. That got even more bizarre when the most beautiful woman he had ever seen threw herself into Nag Kath’s filthy arms for an uncourtly smooch on the lips. Nag Kath spun around twice in her embrace and put her on the floor. There was still business.

“My Lord, I bring a token of our southern trip. I had it taken to the armory.”

The King, now joined by Minister Francieth, two of his aides and Ro’s commanding general, did not lose his smile, but he understood the significance. If the Elf didn’t send the cursed mithril band there, what was this new horror?!

Inariel took her champion’s hand like a newlywed as the small group made their way down the steps to the secure workshop specializing in officers’ kit. There was plenty of light in the day and the Elf gestured to leave the doors open with a sentry to either side.

All this was a bit much for poor Mr. Bartholimul who was still sitting on his cart-seat with the stout wooden box behind. Nag Kath handed him a silver, which removed a lot of the worry, and had four of the palace guardi lift the crate off the wagon. Bartholimul tipped his cap to the assembled nobles and was on his way with a pitcher-full of stories.

Eldarion drew closer to the box with Haradric markings on the outside. Were these some counter-spell against diabolical humors trapped within? It only said ‘this side up’ so the stevedores wouldn’t jostle the heurzis it used to hold. Since no one here could read it, the crate was on its side. Nag Kath borrowed a pry-bar from one of the armorers and loosed the top letting the rock roll out on the straw.

_____________--------_____________

It has been said many times of the Elf’s deeds in Middle-earth, and for long after them, that his ability to be completely wrong was astounding. He usually figured a way out of the jam, but this was truly one of the highlights.

“Inariel put her hands to her cheeks and exclaimed, “A seeing stone, brother!” She walked over as if it was no more than a net-float and ran her elegant fingers over the surface. Her Kingly sibling was just behind and squatted beside it for his own touch.”

All the while; the gobsmacked Elf and marine stood by wondering how the orb hadn’t sent them flying across the room with burning palms! Wasn’t this a dark and foul weapon of the darkest and foulest enemy of the Third Age? 

Eldarion stood to his impressive height with his hands on his hips and asked, “Where on earth did you find this?”

Against proper protocol, his faithful subject didn’t answer the question, instead blurting, “The dark lord summoned his Pelennor armies with this wretched rock, including mine!”

The King and his sister looked at their Elf in a combination of awe and annoyance. Finally the Princess saw her champion had no clue, “My dear, this is one of the Palantiri of Fëanor – great Elvish gifts to the men of Middle-earth. Father gave his to Gandalf. The only other surviving stone had the hands of Denethor burned into the sides before he perished in flame.”

Eldarion was excited, “Yes, and this was the master Osgiliath stone, lost in the Kin-Strife! Again, where did you find it?”

Nag Kath was speechless as well and looked at Ro to compliment his narrative. The young man did him proud, “Sire, this was the calling stone of the terrible tower of Ghalibatu in the heart of Harad. We fomented a dire war and stole it away in blood.”

Realization came over the royal faces. This wasn’t a diplomatic trinket from some eastern potentate. In his repeating pattern, Nag Kath had blood and sorcery on his hands – for a noble cause – one could argue, but this was a state secret.

The King asked, “Warriors were lost?”

“Aye, Sire. Telgrin among them.”

Eldarion instructed, “Men, away with this to the tower strong-room. It …”

“Your pardon, my Liege, They must wear stout gloves in the handling.”

“As Lord Kath has advised.” The armorers had plenty of blacksmithing gloves and they nailed the rock back in its box for a trip to the top of the white tower. The King and his sister chatted on the way back to their apartments while the two motley adventures snapped out of their stupor. 

Ro muttered, “He is your brother-in-law?”

“Yup. Let’s find some food.”

This was the first time Nag Kath had been away from a wife causing mayhem. He was almost never far from Eniece. With Flor he was working and made the trip to Dol Amroth, but not leading soldiers. In his long marriage with Phyllis he was occasionally in harm’s way. His serious outrages were done as a single Elf.

The couple missed each other terribly. Inariel stayed in Minas Tirith almost the whole time except for a couple trips to Emyn Arnen. She kept busy with Milli and her nieces and nephews, now holding positions of authority in the hierarchy.

It was not the same without him. For his part, Nag Kath thought of her constantly – her touch, her smile, her grace. After parking Ro on the sixth and a lengthy bath he took his lady-wife in his arms and renewed their bonds. It wasn’t until late in the night that she leaned on his chest to say, “Thank you for your service, honored knight of Gondor. You must take me next time.”

“Aye, blossom. You would be right at home with the houlars.”

“And yet you spared them. They can still talk?”

“I think so, just not as far. Remember, they were inducted because they already had some power. That seems more common there than here. I think they expected me to rend them in righteous wrath. The Queen I had to kill, but we got away fairly clean. There was war on the far bank, at least, they were headed at each other. Enough to keep the bad ‘uns busy for a time. We haven’t heard the last of that.”

Inariel stretched luxuriantly, “What next, brave defender?”

“I settle Ambassador Telgrin’s legacy. I will visit Chievon too. There is small closure in this.”

“I am sorry this life has to be so hard on you, husband. Do you struggle to make amends for your birth?”

In the dim light he stared at the top of her head. Is that what she thought? Is that what they all thought? The grin shined through, “I never saw it that way. Gandalf, and your father, told me to go forth and use my gifts – some to ease hurts of the dark ones, some just to help, for there are plenty of ills owing to no fell intent. I was only an orc for six months, and not very good at it.” 

A thought intruded, “Wait, now. The head-witch saw Saruman in her mind when I looked into the stone. Perhaps some element of his blood or vitriol seeped out. Maybe the old lady saw long hair and recalled the White Wizard before your da got the stone.”

“Father said Pip looked too.”

“Aye, the houlars said their Mistress saw something like him. That adds up. She saw him before the war – him, Sauron’s eye and another, maybe Denethor if he fried his hands on your brother’s stone.”

She turned to kiss his cheek. This conversation wouldn’t last long. “Gandalf took it. The one upstairs was from Minas … no Amon Sûl. I don’t remember. There were others, long lost. Now you found the big one! I suppose this will send you to the archives beetling for clues.”

“Hmmm, it can wait.”

Ro reported to the royal changeling’s apartments before porridge. Someone found him a fresh marine uniform, quite a bit better than the field dress all but ranking officers wore. The same attendant washed him in a hot bath first.

The soldier was expecting a gauntlet of attendants when Hilti opened the door. “Welcome returning sir. Can I bring you tea while I inform Lord Kath?”

Ro took-in the Elf’s status quickly. He was so many other impossible things. All it took to be a Lord was a rich da. He sat next to the Princess for a light meal to plan the day. Ro-Jardïn, third son to shopkeeper Pelam-Jardïn, could get used to this. The man listened as the blonde specter discussed perfectly ordinary things and his wife, the astonishing Elf-Princess, answered back just like humans do. A strategy emerged that Nag Kath and Ro would visit Tulbar’s black witch before they found Ro a horse for Osgiliath. 

The door was opened by the most astonishing creature Ro had ever seen. The Princess was inspiring, but this, well, and yes, tea would be lovely! 

“Chievon, this is Ro-Jardïn who returned with me from Harad. Ro, this is Chievon, formerly of Khand.” Ro had heard of her as in-league with the darkest forces of the south. He expected another beak-nosed hoular of the Ghalibatu.

“You are too kind, Mr. Kath. I felt disturbances. You are unharmed?”

“I am. We lost two men of twenty. Brave fellows both.”

“Yes, I see. And you, Mr. Ro, you are well?”

“I am, ma’am.”

She settled back with the same upright posture her great-grandmother used and placed her hands on her thighs, “Now, you must tell me all about your adventures.”

They stayed an hour. Ro only spoke when he had to. This was the first time he had heard the sorcerer open-up about his godly (ungodly!) powers. Elf and enchantress nattered on about fire spells, far-speaking and all manner of witchcraft. About the time to say goodbye she asked, “A stone?! Celenieth never mentioned that. Being from Khand, they never really trusted me. I am an older force – like you – perhaps not to get close to their source of power ...” she smiled a wicked smile, “ … else I take it unto myself.”

Most men would be outraged and scold her against such blasphemy. Nag Kath beamed, “You would have been formidable, my dear! Oh, what of the Minister’s aide?”

The witch giggled, “Haven’t smelled anything.”

Nag Kath kissed her on the forehead. “We will keep that between us. Ro, ready to go home?”

____________--------____________

“Thank you, Sire. The situation is no better settled. What news of Ambassador Hembree?”

“Nothing of import. They didn’t throw him out … a beginning. From your tale, his mission might just be long-overdue diplomacy.”

“I can’t say, sir. I do know that the three armies of the confluence are chafing at the bit. The Kel-Lord is closer to our view than the two warlords. He marched north to trap Tulbar’s forces. I wish him well. His trustworthy son fled with his court to their western border which can be defended more easily.” The Elf said quietly, “I was reminded that Gondor steel could find a home with our new ally over the Tharnen.”

Eldarion nodded to his scribe to revisit that. He had no idea what to do with the seeing-stone, crafted by his many-times great uncle. There were only two and one was damaged. Both in the same room, they couldn’t use it to communicate. Perhaps if Denethor’s stone could be rehabilitated, he would return it to Arnor. His brother-in-law watched the King ponder possibilities. There were no surviving images of the infamous Fëanor, creator of the Silmarils. For a moment Nag Kath imagined his liege as an Elf of old.

“Modest as always, Nag. What would you ask of me for your perilous service?”

“That will be modest as well, Sire. On the trip I promoted Ambassador Telgrin to Lord – to help us open doors in the east. In his honor I would like to see him created a genuine Lord, with a dedication at the monument and a pension for his family.” That the man didn’t particularly like his family mattered less than his memory.

The King nodded again to his scribe. That was settled. A visit to the Conaths, his horses – in that order, and then a trip across the river with a personal bequest for the man who died serving his king, to the woman who served his tea.

____________------------____________

It would be fully a year before their intrigues bore fruit. And, as usual, it was barely what the Elf envisioned. His pattern was to put elements in play, relying on natural tendencies to produce better odds. 

Ongaruth took all but his son's escorts north, knowing the Hûks couldn’t attack directly across the confluence. 

What Nag Kath didn’t see was that Tulbar remained with his troops in the north and sent four-thousand of his best rangers downriver intending to actually ambush Sakûn. Sakûn suspected as much and came with all five-thousand of his second corps. When only one Hûk arrived, disgruntled commanders started skirmishing. Those became spot battles and finally one great standoff lasting three months. Sakûn lost a son and most of his barges but inflicted more damage on the Chelkars when they ran out of food.

To the north, Ongaruth’s army forded the Chelkar eight days after he left. The balance of men was stronger than he thought but Tulbar was still in camp and had the better ground. Son Randulf scuttled to the Hûk camp after his troops rallied to their Kel-Lord. Ongaruth was slain on the second day of the engagement, a week before his son died on the opposing side. With his best troops downriver, Tulbar could not flank Amrûn’s first corps on marshy ground and tried to drive a wedge between two columns to settle them separately. That was indecisive. Neither side could gain the upper hand and knew it so after two months, the remaining Amrûnic forces crossed the river to head home. 

Tulbar took an arrow in the forearm three weeks before they left. Barely piercing his armor, the gash seemed to be healing until poor hygiene in camp led to gangrene. His arm had to be removed at the elbow lest it rot the body. A Hûk without a sword-hand is a sorry thing. The man pulled-in his horns and settled for what he had conquered. A few years later, a general with a sword hand tried his turn at lordship. Nothing was heard of the hoular Celenieth.

Sakûn played his cards better. Returning Amrûnic troops saw the situation was hopeless at the Ghalibatu and leisurely retreated to Ihrig-el, reforming the nation in a western capital. With their departure, Sakûn returned Prince Frandulf with a brigade to assume control of the Hûk’s new protectorate. Frandulf remained Governor of the city until the great pox, but never ventured as far as his brother’s lands.

And as with every ruler for nearly two centuries, Fran let the spiders stay in the fortress in exchange for news of the old empire. 

This ends **_The Gift of Color_**

book five of **_Nag Kath_**


End file.
